Krystallnacht
by Hemel Lassie
Summary: Where's Charlie, what happened to his office and what does Krystallnacht have to do with it. Chapter 13 is up...it is not beta'd. See what you think!
1. Chapter 1 Trick or Treat?

KRYSTALNACHT

Chapter One: Trick or Treat?

_This is a revised version of Chapter One, Krystallnacht, a Charlie-centric story starting at Halloween and going into November. I do not own Numb3rs and am making no money from this little endeavor. In fact, I'm on Social Security-Disability and retirement, so trust me...I don't make money period! Not worth suing. I don't think there are really any spoilers in the story Review if you like. I do accept bribery in the form of reviews. It encourages the muse, ya know. Revisions completed on 11/11/06. Hopefully, I have satisfied those who felt some characters were OOC. Also had my work reviewed by beta – Thanks Alice. More mistakes may have cropped up in the process, but that is all on me._

Amita walked into Larry's office and offered a relieved smile when the first eyes she made contact with belonged to Megan Reeves. "Oh, hi, Megan…um, I was hoping you might be here."

Megan raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Okay? Should I point out this is Larry's office and a weekday and I would USUALLY be at work now? Or just go with, what can I do for you, Amita?" Larry wiggled his fingers at his fellow CalSci professor in greeting, but remained silent.

"I'd like both of you to come with me. Something is very wrong. Charlie's office has been completely torn apart. I was afraid campus security might think it's just a Halloween prank gone overboard, but…" Amita was shaking slightly, as she spoke, "one of my students is also in Charlie's first class. She came to tell me that he never showed up for class this morning."

Larry interrupted. "Charles missed his first class, without notifying anyone. Indeed, Megan, that is most unlike him."

Charlie's former grad student, sort of, girlfriend went on, guiltily. "I actually started out this morning really angry with Charlie. He was supposed to pick me up last night. We were going to a costume party together. It was a costume party raising funds for Charlie's special charity. When he never showed up, I called both his home and his cell, but it just kept going to voice mail. I was so mad he stood me up. I just went to the party by myself."

As they talked, she was leading the way through the halls towards Charlie's office. She bit her lip. "I had stopped by and seen Charlie before I left to go home and change into my costume, to make sure we were still on for it; or, that nothing had come up like Don needing his help or…well, you know." Megan and Larry both nodded understanding. "Charlie made such a big deal about not telling what he was coming as. Said his costume was great, but he didn't want to spoil it. He seemed really up for it. He said he would be over to my place to pick me up within 90 minutes. I assumed he had just gotten distracted. He's been doing better but…" Amita suddenly stopped in the hall, rubbing her arms as if cold. "When Jennifer came to my class this morning, I had a bad feeling that something was really wrong. I went to check in his office. He gave me a key a while back."

Larry placed a gentle hand on the arm closest to him. "What did you find?"

The younger woman nervously began walking again. They were almost to Charlie's office door which was closed, but a group of students was clumped outside, clearly waiting to see their professor and she shooed them away. "Please everyone, back up. If Professor Eppes was available, the door would be open and unlocked. You all know that."

Larry joined her in making shooing motions. "Everyone please, back off! It is not the professor's office hours now, at any rate. Please clear away."

Amita tried to unlock the door, but she was having trouble getting the key to slip in the lock. She seemed nothing, but relieved when Megan gently pried the key out of her hand, slipped it in the lock and turned it….opening the door to utter and uncontrolled chaos that made the FBI profiler swallow in reflexive nervousness, as the associate professor explained. "Charlie may not be the king of neat, but he does have an order to things and the office has been looking so GOOD this year. He would never have done this."

Papers and torn books were scattered throughout the area, furniture had been slashed open with stuffing strewn about, and many of the professor's beloved odds and ends lay broken, or, at least, tossed on the floor. Megan's experienced eyes ran over everything with her lovely face drawn into an increasingly grim expression, as she spoke quietly to Larry, whose hands were up on either cheek as his mouth formed a perfectly dismayed O. "Could you have someone summon the campus police to secure this area? I think I had better tell Don to get over here and bring CSU with him."

Larry nodded. "Although I hope this is some Halloween prank gone horribly awry, I think we would be remiss if we didn't approach this as a possible crime scene. Do you think Charles is in here somewhere, needing assistance?"

Megan held her hand out in a stopping motion to indicate she didn't want Amita or Larry to actually enter the office, but she opened her purse, drew out her gun – thinking 'just in case', and stated firmly. "I don't think so, but I will do a quick careful sweep to be sure." She edged carefully around the office, past the desk, behind a chalk board and a white board, over to a bookcase which blocked off part of the office from easy view from the door to be certain the younger Eppes was not laying back there, napping or injured. Although she saw several stains that might be blood and plenty of evidence there had been a struggle before the area was rifled and ransacked, no one was present. She flipped open her phone and hit the speed dial for her boss.

"Eppes." Don answered with a slight grin, as he noted her name on caller ID. "If you need help with Larry, Megan, you have got the wrong brother!"

Megan had no smile or banter to respond with. She simply said seriously. "Don, did you happen to see or talk to Charlie at all last night or this morning?"

"No, Agent Reeves, some of us are not taking a personal day." Don retorted, a tad facetiously. "Some of us are working. Why are you asking me about my brother?" He was shifting into professional mode, but there was a tone of confusion in it.

"I'm in his office, right now, Don. You need to get over here with a crime scene unit. I think we may have a serious problem here." She frowned as she noticed a piece of white paper taped to his blackboard amidst a typically unreadable flurry of mathematical writing. Drawing closer, she was able to read a single word written on the outside of the paper. "Don, does 'Krystalnacht' mean anything special to you?" She heard Larry taking in a breath in what could only be described as a horrified gasp, but Don's reply was.

"Sounds German…isn't that the name of a rock band or something?"

"I don't think that is the usage intended here." She glanced over at Larry whose hands were now covering his face as he seemed to shudder in fear. "Get here, fast."

"On our way, Megan. Preserve the scene." Don was all business now.

"Will do." Megan responded, snapped shut her cell and turned to her beau. "Larry, that word rings a bell with me, but I can't place it. You seem to know it."

"Kristallnacht," Larry explained, rather breathlessly, "On the night of November 9, 1938, Nazi youth and sympathizers broke into the homes and businesses of all the Jews they could find, destroying, killing, looting, and breaking things. The next morning there was so much broken glass on the streets that the people called the night _Kristallnacht,_ or "Night of Broken Glass."

Amita stared at Larry, aghast. "Larry, are you saying that Charlie is….?"

"Oh, heaven's no, Amita, I certainly don't mean Charles is dead. Not every Jew was killed that night, but it was the start of the strongest approved aggression against Jews and was even used as an excuse for the state to gather them into the ghettos, to 'protect' them from society at large. Many times it is pointed to as the start of the Holocaust." The professor seemed ill at ease on how to handle his younger colleague's upset. When he threw Megan a pleading look, she came back to the doorway and put her arms around the other woman.

"Charlie is not in here, Amita. Don't jump to the worst possible conclusion. I agree this is not just a joke or a prank though. With the Nazi reference and the damage which has been done, this looks like a hate crime, which is federal jurisdiction. You were right to bring it to my attention. Even if the good doctor wasn't his brother, I would be calling Don."

"I can state with certainty that Charlie would never have anything to do with a prank or joke about Kristallnacht." Larry stated, vehemently. "Charles would never joke about anything remotely connected with those terrible times."

"Don didn't seem to make an immediate connection when I mentioned the word." Megan seemed surprised.

Larry gently pointed out. "Neither did you, right away, Megan. Charles would. He did some research about…" His voice trailed off. Swallowing deeply, he added. "Charles is very aware of his Judaic roots."

Puzzled, she remarked. "It has never appeared to me the Eppes are particularly observant."

Larry elaborated. "Just because they may, or may not, be observant of the Jewish religion does not alter, in the least, the fact they are Jewish, Megan." He hesitated a moment, but said. "Charles explored his heritage a great deal when he was first at Princeton, but I don't believe he has ever shared that fact with his father or Don."

Megan looked intrigued, but said. "I won't say anything, Larry. Don't worry."

Amita was getting a better look around the room and seemed to have missed most of the last exchange. "So many things Charlie treasures are broken. Are those torn books on the floor?"

Megan tightened her grasp, firmly forestalling any instinct the other woman might have towards tidying up. "Amita, we have to keep everything the way it is. When you came here earlier, did you actually enter the office?"

Pushing her dark hair behind her ear, the relatively new teacher replied. "No. No. I knocked and called out his name, but when he didn't answer, I used my key and opened the door. I looked in, kind of freaked, I guess…called out to him again, asking if he was in here. I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for his cell to see if I'd hear it ring. When I didn't, I called his home real quick, but it went straight to the answering machine, so neither he nor Mr. Eppes answered there. I was going to call Larry to see if you might be with him, but I decided to lock back up and go over there."

"That's good. You did just the right thing." Reeves assured her. She noticed some of the students were starting to try to 'drift away' behind them past the open door, so she pulled the door shut as she gently edged both Amita and Larry out of the entry way. "We'll just close the door until Don and the team get here."

Larry agreed. "Excellent idea, Agent Reeves. Students, I'm sure you all have other places to be. Clear the hallway, people. Professor Eppes is not available at this time, please move along." He clapped his hands and the groups began to scatter with some grumbling about assignments and questions.

A rather overweight, but professional looking campus cop came up to Larry. "Professor Fleinhardt, what seems to be the problem here?"

Megan took charge, pulling out her badge and showing it to him. "I'm Special Agent Megan Reeves with the LA FBI office. Professor Eppes office has been vandalized and it looks like a hate crime, so the FBI will be handling the investigation, but I'd like you to secure this area as a crime scene. Can you block off this corridor until it has been properly processed, Officer?"

"Harrison, Gregory Harrison. I'll make arrangements to get this area cordoned off. Do you need to co-ordinate this with the area police? I realize hate crimes fall within Federal jurisdiction, but I never heard of the FBI reporting one before."

"Technically, Greg," Larry explained, "Professor Ramajuan reported it to both me and Agent Reeves who happened to be on site."

"Ah, yes. Professor Eppes mentioned that Professor Ramajuan had a key. I do have to complete an incident report so it is important I get the chain of events correct here." The officer took out a pad and began to note information.


	2. Chapter 2 The Crime of the Scene

Krystalnacht

Chapter Two: The Crime of the Scene

_This is the final version of this chapter, post beta reading and editing. Thank you to my beta, Alice. FV as of 11/16/2006_

Don took the stairs to the floor Charlie's office was on three at a time. He had barely uttered the words 'isn't that the name of a rock band?' when images of the infamous nights in November had slammed into his brain, leaving his stomach bouncing between his toes and his eyebrows ever since. Don tried to remember if he had EVER seen anything vaguely resembling a skinhead or neo-Nazi vocalizing around the CalSci campus, but he couldn't dredge up a single memory.

David was working up a good sweat trying to keep up with him. As they rounded the corner to the hallway, at the top of the stairs, Don noted the area had been cordoned off and campus security had set up a perimeter. Megan was holding a shaking Amita while Larry rested his forehead against the wall with his eyes closed. Reeves looked relieved to see them.

"I can't believe I said Kristallnacht might be a rock band." Eppes said by way of a greeting. "I just did not want to go there, you know. How bad is it?"

In reply, Megan merely led the way past campus security, twisted the door handle and swung the door open.

Don bit his lip as he regarded the scene. "Holy….."

David didn't even realize he'd finished his boss's sentence when he exclaimed softly. "Crap!" Glancing over at Don, he stuttered, "Sorry, boss…"

Don managed a tight grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Why? I'd say that sums it up nicely." He was deadly serious a second later when he met Megan's eyes. "You've checked and…."

"He's definitely not in there, Don."

Don chomped harder on his gum. "I'm not sure if I am relieved or not. What made you bring up Kristallnacht?"

"Over on the chalkboard, see the paper taped up there? The only word showing is 'Krystalnacht'."

Larry started to be helpful. "It stands for…"

Don snapped, "Unfortunately, I know what it refers to. But that was November 9th and 10th. Today is only the 1st, so we are well before any 'anniversary'. Plus, Charlie isn't exactly a business owner and this is no synagogue." He pulled a pair of gloves on and, careful not to disturb anything, walked over to the board. "David, get a shot before I take this down." David used his cell phone camera to take a couple of different shots of the board with the note still affixed and checked them with Megan looking on to make sure they were clear. He snapped another of Don removing it, establishing a chain of evidence.

Don blew out a breath. "It's misspelled; should be K-r-i-s-t-a-l-l-n-a-c-h-t."

David remarked. "I have seen it spelled this way in some letters to the editor that compared the original Kristallnacht to how the Palestinians are being treated in Israel."

"Oh, yeah?" Don remarked. "So, this may be from some radical PLO fan or jihadist, not just a neo-Nazi? That doesn't sound like an improvement, pal, but thanks for the info." He flipped it open, quickly scanned the contents. "I was so hoping this would say 'No Treat, so here's your trick, Professor.' The body is written in some kind of code, except for the signature which says – Four our Homeland, APM. By the way, they have spelled 'for' with a u like the number. Not sure if that is a hint to the code, a bad joke or another sign, that these people are not the brightest bulbs in the fixture."

David handed Don a clear plastic evidence bag, which he slipped the note into opened flat so from one side you could see the one word address, but flipping it you could read the text inside.

"Now, if Charlie were here, he could probably break this thing in no time flat…." Don sighed heavily. "Who's the APM? Anybody recognize that acronym. I'm drawing a blank." He glanced at each of them.

"I would venture to guess something like Aryan Purity…I don't know, movement?" David shrugged. "I have not seen it on any alerts."

Don shook his head. "Why have Krystalnacht on the outside and code inside? Larry, Amita – have either of you heard anything about a group with those initials or any kind of hate literature being handed out around campus?"

Larry replied. "I haven't really seen any anti-Semite brochures recently about the campus and I am not familiar with that acronym. Amita?"

"I've seen some flyers that offended me by sounding anti-Semite or anti-Israel, but mostly in context with the war in Iraq." She had a sudden memory and went on. "Don, not too long ago, Charlie told me that a yellow Star of David had been shoved under his office door."

"Oh, my…" Larry murmured, "he – he never mentioned that to me. Don…"

Don frowned. "Yeah, I know. The first thing the Nazis did was to require all Jews to register and to wear a yellow Star of David. Amita, do you know if he kept it? Why in the hell wouldn't he tell me about something like that?"

Amita spoke up, again. "There was no note. I don't think Charlie felt threatened. We were kind of, um, otherwise, occupied at that time. I'm pretty sure he just threw it away."

"He still should have mentioned it to me." Don's eyes restlessly scanned the room. "David, see what's keeping the crime scene people, will you?"

"On it, boss." Sinclair left the office to find the tech unit.

Larry said gently, "Amita, my young colleague, don't you have a class to teach shortly? As for me, I need to notify the department head that Charlie will not be teaching any classes for the rest of the day and prepare a notice to post for his students."

"Larry, refer them to me. I have a copy of his lesson plans and outlines on my computer, I can work something out with the department starting tomorrow," Amita replied. "Is it all right if I leave for my class, Don?"

"Yes, of course, Amita. I appreciate you calling this to Megan's attention. We will need to get a complete statement later, but go teach your class." After she had left, Eppes went on. "Larry, if you have somewhere else to be, I'm sure Megan can get your statement for me. Megan, I can handle this…you do have the day off."

"Don," Megan carefully broached her subject, "are you planning on taking lead on this? I don't think that will fly with upstairs."

"Megan, at the moment, we aren't even sure exactly what we have. I'm not going to corrupt a possible case by just doing some initial investigation. You can enjoy your day off. Go on."

Larry patted her hand. "My dear, I quite understand if you want to help out with this investigation."

"I would like to stay in on this, Larry. I'm really worried about Charlie."

"I will be in my office, if you need me, Megan. I'm quite concerned about Charles myself. If he was present when this happened, I fear our young friend may indeed require your assistance."

Megan placed a gentle kiss on Larry's cheek. "Can I have a rain check on my wild card?"

"Indubitably! Please, find out what happened here," Larry waved his hands, indicating the office.

Don nodded. "Count on that, Larry. Count on it."

When both professors were gone, the work could begin in earnest. "Megan, we need to get a copy of this note over to our cryptography department. We need to know what it says as soon as possible. Have to get this original to trace; maybe they were dumb enough to leave us some nice fingerprints." Don took a calming breath, trying to rein in his emotions. This should not have happened. Charlie's academic world was supposed to be the safe world.

Don's jaw worked tightly, as he tried to squelch the fear and frustration that threatened to overwhelm him.

With supreme effort, he reined in his thoughts. '_You can not crumble. You will not lose it. This is for Charlie, so only your very best effort will do. Keep it together!'_

Managing the shift to calm, collected, professional mode, Don ventured. "Megan, what makes you so sure Charlie was here?"

They were still in the doorway. "There is no sign of forced entry. Larry says Charlie has become quite good about locking up when he leaves." Being careful where she stepped, she indicated some splatter. "There is blood evidence here, Don. It isn't a lot, so I don't think he was hurt too badly." Watching where she stepped, she indicated a few places.

"It may not be Charlie's blood." Don was grasping at straws. He knew that, plus he had to admit. "If he was here though, he would never have just stood by and let someone tear his office apart like this."

Megan pointed out. "Charlie and Amita were supposed to go to a Halloween party last night, Don. She saw him just before she headed home to change into her costume and he told her he'd be there to pick her up within 90 minutes. When he didn't show, she tried to reach him by phone at home and on his cell. Eventually, she gave up and went by herself."

The senior agent briefly lowered his head. "Charlie was really excited about that party. It was for a cause close to his heart. He always knew what a strain on our family finances his tutors were, so he helped create this fund to assist the families of gifted children. He serves on the board. He would not blow it off lightly. Still, he gets distracted so easily. Maybe he went home, got too distracted by some great idea and just…."

David came back, in time to hear the last. "CSU is coming up the stairs now, Don. They had to park pretty far away. Could you check with your father to see if Charlie is at home?"

"No. Dad is down in San Diego with Stan meeting with some clients. He went yesterday afternoon and was spending the night. Anybody check the house?"

"Amita said she called him there, several times this morning, on top of last night," Agent Reeves responded.

"My brother is not real good about answering the phone when he's off on one of his tangents. Call Colby and have him run by the house and check, just to be absolutely sure. All this," he gestured around him, "is something we have to investigate, but we can't just assume the worst."

As David got on his cell phone with Colby, Don closed his eyes briefly. He was a gifted investigator with the ability to visualize actions in keeping with physical evidence. That gift was now a double edged sword as his mind conjured up an all too familiar face being struck, bloodied and bruised. Not allowing that picture to burn into his mind, he pulled himself away from that focus and fixed his eyes on the blackboard directly across from the entry. There was Charlie's typical hurried scrawl of mathematical equations far beyond Don's ability to interpret.

In his thoughts, Don made a promise. _Hang on, Buddy. We will find you. I won't let you down, brother. I will not let you down._

David's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Colby said the case files and reports are safely over to the Assistant US attorney's office, all signed, sealed and delivered. He's en route to Charlie's house, now. He'll get back to us, as soon as he can."

Don nodded. "Good deal. Thanks, David." He briefly locked eyes with his two fellow agents, in turn. "In the immortal words of Kris Kraft, 'Failure is not an option.' Let's do this."

"He's one of us," Sinclair agreed, firmly.

"We take care of our own," Megan Reeves added.

The crime scene unit arrived at the room's entrance. Don went to the lead technician, turned over the note from the board and the assembled team went to work.

6


	3. Chapter 3: In the Belly of the Beast

Krystalnacht

Chapter 3: In the Belly of the Beast

_This is the beta'ed revision of Chapter Three. I think it is a new, improved version, though readers may find it hasn't changed all that much. Thanks to my beta reader, Alice, for her invaluable assistance. Any errors which remain are, of course, mine and mine alone. Revised as of 11/17/2006 _

It was dark. Charlie had seldom seen a dark as dark as this.

His first conscious thought was: _'Am I dead? Is this what death is like?' _

That thought was admittedly a very fuzzy one, probably because it was the first thing. Dark… silent… For the first time in his memory, even the numbers in his mind were eerily, utterly still, so perhaps that was why his thoughts immediately questioned if he was dead. No pain, only the first glinting of thought patterns without number noise, just dark, still, silent…oh, and it was cold, too. It was very, very cold.

Now, he began to feel. First, he was aware that he had no shoes or socks, his vest and jacket were gone, so, all he had on was a light shirt over a short sleeve t-shirt and medium weight slacks.

Well, he probably wasn't dead, after all. Did one 'feel' clothing, the lack thereof, or cold, if one was were dead? He'd never thought about it, but he didn't imagine so. Besides, he always had hoped, believed, especially since his mom died, that there was something more after a person died, not just this nothingness. His next thought was that this must be something like what Jonah or Pinocchio felt like – in the belly of the whale - dark, cold, a little dampish and empty.

Wait. Were his eyes even open? Where was he last? What happened?

'_First off, Charlie, consciously open your eyes. You do still have eyes, right?'_

Yep, he unquestionably had eyes, because he was aware of closing them now and opening them again. No change, still total darkness and the same sensations, so it was definitely dark wherever here was.

'_How did I get here? What is the last thing I can remember? School…I was in my office; Amita came in, asked if we were still on for the party._

_Shit…the party, I'm pretty sure I am missing or missed the party, but why? Bet Amita is really pissed at me right now._

_Wait. Was that the last thing? No. It was later, the last thing, those guys, first just two walking in my office door. Come on…remember. It was kind of shocking, but why? Think, Charlie. You're supposed to be a genius, right? Thinking and retrieving memories shouldn't be this hard._

_Oh, crap. They were dressed up - one like some obscene Hitler youth and the other like an SS officer, so naturally you had to make them mad right away with that wisecrack.'_

"Uh, guys, if that kind of costume didn't go over so big for the princes of England, I can guarantee you it's not going to get any points here? Besides, no costume party in this office…I think you must be in the wrong place."

'_No laugh and no joke either, because SS guy hauled off and smacked me in the face, so hard it felt like my head was going to come off my shoulders.'  
_  
"Shut up, Jew pig."

'_That was when Hitler youth started throwing things around. All my student's term papers scattered all over the floor. I got angry… too much so for my own good. Anger equals bad decisions, Charlie, how many times did Mom try to drill that into me when I was a kid. So, did I follow Mom's wisdom? Nope, let that smart mouth streak that always got me in trouble with Don run amuck. How smart could I have been when, the next thing out of my mouth was,'_

"Again, Jews and pigs…we don't really go together. Get with the program here."

'_Hitler youth kicked my feet right out from under me. I wound up on the floor, with pain shooting from my tail bone to the top of my brain. Sorry, Mom, you and Dad both taught me better._

_It's all beginning to come back now – the memories and the pain, a thousand aches and pains. The two guys quickly grew to several in my office, five or six at least. They were trashing the place – cutting up the upholstery on furniture, knocking stuff off shelves, and I tried to reason with them, which was probably an oxymoron because the last thing any of the Nazi costumed baboons had was any sense of reason. They were intent on humiliation, insults, and inflicting physical damage on my office, my belongings and me…in no particular order._

_I had wised up and tried to escape pretty fast, but they made sure to block my only way out, so resistance seemed the only option, however futile. Of course, how much resistance could I offer? Not one of them was my size physically; size wise they all had more in common with Don, Colby and David, and I am no FBI agent! I am and always have been more math geek then anything else. _

_Still one thing I have learned since consulting with Don. If it looks like someone is going intent on hurting or kidnapping you, resist. Giving up and going with them voluntarily is the worst thing a person can do. The odds are not good once they get a person away from the initial scene. Simple statistics dictated it was NOT best to just give up, so I did try to resist, but, the whole fighting back thing, just seemed to really piss them off. That's when they all seemed to agree the most important thing was taking my resistance out of the equation. Somewhere in the pain party that followed, when blackness claimed me, it was pretty much a relief._

_That's probably why my first thought now was wondering if I was dead. Where I was last? That was a pretty scary place to be, involving pain and a not nice costume party. Unfortunately, I'm fairly certain this was not just the most mean spirited Halloween trick ever. This is something very ugly, totally real, and quite personal. Something which has brought me to wherever the heck I am, a place dark, quiet, cold, damp and very, very frightening._

_Okay, think here, brainiac; what would Don do in this situation, or even, what would you do, if your head didn't feel like it was about to explode, your mouth was not a dry, dust storm and you did not hurt in places you didn't know before now you had? Duh, try and determine the nature of where you are. How? Well, if all else fails, ask.'_

"Hello? Is anyone here?" No response forthcoming, and the sound didn't exactly echo, but it seemed to bounce off nothing, but walls.

'_Take a little personal inventory here. Wait. The wrists and ankles don't feel right. They are in something. This is bigger than handcuffs. Manacles – that's what they call them, right? Metal around each wrist and ankle – about two or two and a half inches wide connected to each other per part, per set, by nice heavy duty chains._

_Peachy. _

This is another fine mess you have gotten yourself into. Try moving a bit. The chain between the wrist and ankle restraints seems to be about twelve or eighteen inches, at the most. Can you move about the, whatever this is? There is weight, so there is something else connected somewhere. Ah, the wristlets have a ring on the side, through which passes a separate chain, that goes up somewhere above and behind you. Boy, taking inventory in pitch black isn't all that easy, is it? I'm exhausted…must be the head injury, beating thing. Have to rest a minute.

_Calm down, Charlie, because a panic attack right now? That would not be exactly constructive. You just woke up in physical restraints, like some dungeon in a dark nightmare, so give yourself a few to calm down._

_Breath – in, out, not too deep; that hurts, so, slow it down. In, out and focus on calming the turbulent feelings that are trying to take hold. Breath…slow it all down. Easy, now. Easy. Calm, so you can think._

_Back to exploring what you can with your fingers – these manacles; where do they lock on?_

_Okay, that is weird. I can't feel a locking mechanism. What did they do, solder them on? Shit. These wrist things have a real permanent feel to them. That is one really scary thought. They seem to be intended to be permanent. _

_Do not panic, Charlie. It will not help the situation one bit, so just stay calm. _

_Check the ankles. What about the ankles? Okay, there is a lock on them – not like I have a key or anything, but that is nice to know._

_Where am I? Who were those guys? Frankly, if it wasn't Halloween, it all had a real Twilight Zone, you have suddenly been transported to Nazi Germany in the 30's, feel that could totally freak me out._

_Yes, I know these neo-Nazi groups are out there, but they aren't really the kind of people that attend CalSci. Where did they come from and why me? It's not like they could have followed me from synagogue or something because that's not we weren't raised going there. I've never done that around here. I never knew how Dad would take it._

_I mean, outside of the provenance art case not too long ago, I don't think I have even worked a case with Don or here on the west coast related to any anti-Semite groups. Back east consults is another story, but that was a long time ago. Never anything Don or Dad had to know about. So, why me? Why now?_

_Nothing is coming to me on this. Let's put that contemplation on the back burner._

_Wonder how long I have been here? They took my watch and with having been unconscious for at least a while and having no visual clues, I am literally in the dark about time._

_Hah, Charlie, that's very funny – literally in the dark about time._

_Okay, maybe not funny. Let's see, I'm definitely dry and thirsty, but I really can't tell, if I'm dehydrated yet. My stomach hurts, but, is that from getting hit with fists, or, am I hungry? Of course, I don't think I had lunch today – if it even still is today. It is really kind of scary to have no idea how long this had been going on._

_Does anybody know I'm missing, or, that I'm late? Are they looking for me? Have they seen the office yet?_

_Once someone sees the office, they'll at least call security, if not Don. Please, let somebody call Don. He'll find me. I know he will; or, at least, he'll go crazy trying. I mean the office has to be a mess and I think I bled, at least, some. I know my lip split and my nose bled; though I can't remember much else._

_People may think I am a bit of a slob, or challenge my level of organization, but no one is going to believe I trashed my office space like that! Right?_

_I really wish I had some sense of time. It's really disorienting, sitting here in the dark, cold, quiet with no idea of how much time has passed. Scary._

_I think I need to rest a while. I feel sort of shaky, like I'm going to pass out. Lean back. Well, there is a wall behind me all right, but it feels like plain, flat concrete. Where in the heck am I? If I just rest a little while, maybe I can think more clearly after I do that. Yeah. Rest._

_Don't think any more. Don't even try. Just, get a little rest. Lean my head back against the wall. That's it. Rest.'_


	4. Chapter 4: Information Gathering

Krystalnacht

Chapter 4: Information Gathering

_This is the revised version of Chapter 4, which I think is a huge improvement, so thanks out to my Beta Reader, Alice. Better grammar, smoother clearer procedural…all that jazz! I believe in striving to do the best one can and this is definitely stronger thanks to working with a beta. Revised 11/17/2006_

"Okay, let's review what we have so far." Don spoke to the assembled techs and his team from next to the blackboard opposite the room's entrance. "It appears Charlie was standing here, based on what Professor Ramajuan told us earlier. He was probably trying to finish these notes on the board, when he was interrupted by at least two people at the door. He would have turned, asked if he could help them or what they were doing here, because it was after his regular office hours. He seems to have taken a step or two away from the board." The agent's hand gestured to the board as he spoke.

Don's mind strained to imagine what Charlie had seen when these intruders violated his sanctuary. What was his brother's first reaction irritation, anger, fear? He yanked his thoughts back to the job and jammed the hand with its slight betraying tremor, into his pocket, with the fervent hope no one had noticed.

_Come on, Eppes, focus on the problem. Do not blow this. Keep your cool. _

Don mimicked the steps. "He was met at this point by one of the intruders, who hit him, probably in the face, based on the blood spatter we have here." He indicated the stains on the wall nearby, which had already been documented and swabbed to check DNA. The agent struggled to keep the image of his brother's face being smashed hard enough generate the spatter out of his mind.

The lead technician squatted and pointed to a few blood drops near Agent Eppes' feet, continuing the narrative for him. "These blood drops here have a directionality that indicates they are probably from the attacker who probably dropped his hand to his side, for a moment, after he made the hit. He must have torn some skin when he connected."

Sinclair interrupted, hopefully. "Is there enough to check for DNA?"

The tech smiled, as if the question made his day. "Oh, we will get DNA. Let's just hope there will be a match in the system."

Don gestured toward papers scattered on the floor between him and the doorway. He was still closer to the blackboard, than the door. "When and how do you think those papers wound up on the floor?"

The same tech moved over to edge of the papers on the floor, squatted again and considered a moment before he responded. "I think while the one suspect wasassaulting the professor; the other had started messing up the office. Best guess, these papers were pulled down from the shelves just to the left, as we face out, of the entrance. Would I be correct in assuming those shelves hold papers students have handed in before they are recorded received and graded by the professor or one of his TA's?"

Don nodded his affirmation. "That would be correct. I'm sure Professor Ramajuan will be able to verify if these papers would belong up there."

"Well, I notice none of them are graded. See though, they were disturbed quite soon after they were thrown down."

Don walked over, squatted next to the tech, and carefully squinted, as his head swept back and forth, trying to make sense of the evidence in front of him. He craned his head to look more closely at some papers, in particular, that seemed to have been kicked back, hitting the wall. Some were even almost standing upside down, against the wall. He considered a moment. "Check me on this. It looks to me as if, after he was hit, my brother began to move towards the door. Probably wanted to try and go for help. The guy, who was tossing the office, swept his legs out from under him. Charlie went down, about there – on his backside, or, to his knees."

"I got you." David had come closer and caught the flow now. "He must have landed on his rear end, because, he scrambled up and somehow got past guy two. See those papers against the wall slipped out, while he was regaining his feet."

The lead agent nodded. "Right, you're right - the way those pages landed, plus that smudge, that's the pattern from the sneakers he's been wearing lately, so he stepped on it, slipped a little, but kept going so it slid up and aside in the scramble."

Sinclair shook his head. "He almost made it out of here, man. He was that close to getting away." He pointed to a smudge higher on the wall, at the level of Charlie's head. "Somebody caught him right here and forced him back against the wall, an arm's length from the door." His eyes locked with Dons for one moment, conveying regret as he stated. "Some strands of his hair are caught in this paint which is just slightly dented in."

Don had just risen back to his feet. He stepped forward, glanced at the hair, and nodded confirmation. "Yeah." Swallowing hard, he stated flatly to the lead tech. "Map, photo, bag and tag that hair. You can run DNA, but I can tell you now. It is my brother's."

The crime scene lead frowned as he stepped up. "Sorry my guys missed that, sir."

Don shook his head. "We're all on the same side here. No sweat." He closed his eyes just an instant, gave himself that time to force his feelings deep down inside. He was all pro again, when he asked the head CS tech. "How many different shoe prints have you tentatively identified, so far?"

"Beyond Professor Eppes and dismissing those we eliminated as belonging to you and your people, Agent Eppes, I'd be comfortable saying four, possibly, five individuals were involved."

"Well, he was outnumbered, but he did not go down without a fight." David remarked.

"Unfortunately, he took more than a few knocks for resisting."

"These people were not out to just mess up the office. They came here to grab Doctor Eppes." The lead tech remarked. "Based on the word on the front of the note you found taped to the board, it would seem the attack on the professor was tied to his…well, your, ethnic heritage."

"It's all right to say anti-Semitic. I would say that is pretty well established." Don responded, tersely.

Larry appeared in the doorway. "Don, I don't mean to interrupt, but a colleague heard through the grapevine of the investigation in progress here. She brought me this memory card. She was taking some photos about the grounds late yesterday, trying out her new digital camera. Her name is Professor Tauray. She got photos of some individuals she assumed were dressed for Halloween, in what she felt was a very inappropriate manner. She took pictures of two groups, slightly staggered in time, entering this building, with the thought of lodging a protest with the dean, for their attire."

Don walked over, accepted the memory card and passing it on to the technician who was manning a laptop where all the evidence and photos were being recorded as they processed the scene. He explained to the group. "This is my brother's colleague, Professor Larry Fleinhardt. He has provided us with invaluable assistance, on more than one occasion."

As the pictures uploaded, they displayed on the laptop's screen. The first few were of two men in the math building foyer, by the bottom of the stairwell, which was well lit. One was clothed as a Hitler youth and one as an SS officer. Additional pictures followed of three more males. The time code displayed on the screen by each photo showed only a brief time gap between the two groups arriving. The second group wore more WWII costumes with a Nazi theme.

Don swallowed the gorge that rose in this throat, reflexively. He squinted at one group shot, intently, and leaned forward when he noticed some thing of great interest. "Wait. This second group of guys, can you enlarge this image, here? Get the best view on his hand." When the tech obliged, the image was clear enough to be certain. "I'll be damned. That suspect had a video camera. What, these guys taped this for posterity?"

Megan ventured. "They look pretty young, high school or slightly older, maybe. At that age, they feel invulnerable. It would fit a general profile for them to want to tape their handiwork for bragging rights."

"Clyde," Reeves spoke to the lead tech, "were you able to scan the note through the evidence envelope? Professor Fleinhardt might be able to give us a jump start on decoding the cipher on the note."

"Yes, Agent Reeves. Professor, if you could give me an e-mail address, I could forward you a copy. I don't have a printer with me, but I am online."

Megan took action. "Bring up your e-mail program. I can enter the professor's e-mail over in his office." She bent over the laptop and entered it.

Larry seemed relieved to have something further he could add to the investigation. "I shall certainly see what I can do. If it's okay with you, Don, when Amita is done with her class, I will ask her to work on it with me. Between the two of us, we should have something for you rather quickly, if it is not too difficult a code."

"That would be great, Larry. We would appreciate that."

"Professor Tauray said she noticed that each group went up the stairs to this floor. She told me she saw all five emerge from that stairwell, some time later. By that time, she was across the quad taking other shots, but she saw in her peripheral vision, they seemed to be lugging what she assumed at the time was a dummy. She was unable to actually get that on camera, as they exited towards the parking lot expeditiously. She was simply not in a favorable position to capture it on camera, especially, not being that familiar with the camera."

As the agent in charge, Don made a decision. "Larry, could you take Megan and introduce her to Professor Tauray? She can get a complete statement from her, you, and, Amita when she joins up with you."

Sinclair's cell phone rang and he answered it softly, but almost immediately said, out loud. "Colby, hang on a second. Ask Don directly." To Don, he explained quickly. "He says that Charlie's car is not at his house. He wants to know if you want him to enter the premises."

Eppes took the phone. "Colby? Yeah, go on in. Do you need me to tell you where the spare key is? Already found it, huh? Well, I keep telling him that is too obvious a place to hide it, but Charlie can be damn stubborn when he thinks he's right about something. Last time I brought it up he started spewing numbers about how few house burglaries actually make use of hidden keys per annum, per capita. He always relies on his numbers over any wisdom I try to impart. What's the use arguing with a genius, you know? No. I'll hold on. Go on in." After several moments of waiting, Don sighed. "I didn't figure we would have any luck with that, but I had to be sure. It doesn't look like there were any uninvited guests though, right? That's a good thing. Look, get an agent over there to sit on the house for me. Tell whoever get, I want him to make sure my dad stays safe as well once he gets home, but to do so subtly. I have to be the one to explain what has happened to my dad. No, I think we are wrapping up here. Campus security will keep a presence on the office to make sure the perps don't return to the scene of the crime. We'll meet up at the office in about…" he glanced at Megan and Sinclair who both shrugged, indicating it was up to him, "an hour to ninety minutes tops. Sound good? Catch you there. Let me give you back to Sinclair." He handed the phone back.

David stepped aside and had a few more words with his partner, before he shut the phone.

Don spoke to the technical unit as a whole. "Everyone stay here until you have all the pictures you need and evidence gathered. As soon as possible, please make copies of all the papers; I need to turn the copies to Professor Ramajuan. She can sort those out to see what can be done in their teacher's absence to keep his students current. Doctor Eppes has a security clearance that makes getting him back a matter of national security. This is to be handled with the highest priority."

Clyde Bowens, the lead CSU tech, handed the memory card back to Larry Fleinhardt. "There you are, Professor. All the images are captured. Duplicates of them and the images of the note have been e-mailed to your account."

"Thank you." The professor accepted the items return in his usual, rather reserved, manner.

"No, Larry," Don responded, firmly, "thank you and thank Professor Tauray for us. Once we get the pictures of those guys back to the office, we will try running facial recognition to see if any of them have a record. Please, tell her we really appreciate her help."

"Shall I go with Professor Fleinhardt now, Don? I'll come back to the office once I have those statements." Megan offered.

"That would be great, Megan. The sooner the better, okay? David and I will finish trying to establish a basic timeline here and head on out to the office to compare notes and officially get this investigation going."

Reeves nodded, as she firmly took Larry's arm. "If you don't have anything else to add at this point, Professor Fleinhardt, shall we?"

Once they had left, Don turned back to David and the techs. "Okay, where were we? We have solid evidence confirming five perps assaulted Professor Eppes, tossed his office, and took him away. His laptop, suit jacket – hey, are his car keys in his pocket?"

David quickly checked and shook his head no.

"So they may have taken his car, as Colby already told us, it isn't at the house. I didn't see it in the lot when we came in – did you, Sinclair?"

The younger agent answered promptly. "No. I did look around as we came in and again when I went down to see where CSU was, Don."

"We will hold off putting out a BOLO until we check one more time on the way out. His backpack and laptop bag are both still here, too. Given the fact those are still here, I don't think they wanted information from him and they weren't here to steal anything. The place is a mess, but I am pretty sure nothing is missing."

Sinclair commented. "They didn't damage the laptop either. It's just here."

"I guess that wasn't on their agenda." Don replied. "They seemed to have been intent on disrupting the office and taking the professor away." He rubbed at the ache just above his eyebrows a moment before saying in a steady voice. "CSU Bowens, everyone, thanks for all your hard work. When you are finished here, get your initial reports to me at the office as soon as you can. David, let's check the parking lot again on the way out and get back to the bullpen. Are there any questions? No. Okay. Let's get to it." The two agents headed out, stopping at the door to make sure campus security would lock up after the techs finished inside and that they would maintain the integrity of the scene until it was officially released.


	5. Chapter 5: Emotional Aftermath

Krystalnacht

Chapter 5: Emotional Aftermath

_Warning, this addition has not yet been beta'ed. Read it now at thine own risk. If I wind up making any major revision, I will find a way to let you know. I just feel that you all have already waited long enough for another chapter. Hoping this didn't go too badly. Now...on with the show. Note - for some reasons, it is messing with my spacing. So between sections, which comment you will understand when you read this, I will try separating another way._

As Eppes and Sinclair reached the parking lot, David was surprised when his lead agent tossed him the car keys, but he caught them deftly.

The only explanation Don offered was the terse comment. "You drive. Get us off this campus as quickly as possible."

Keeping himself from visibly shrugging, Sinclair got in the driver's side and started the vehicle as Don got in the other side, keeping his face averted as if looking out the passenger's side window. However, he could swear the other man was shaking, where he sat and his hands were fisted in balls so tight the knuckles blanched a pale white. Not far along the first city street off campus from CalSci, Don spoke up, urgently. "Pull over. Now."

Pretty sure now what was going on, David had only just pulled safely into an empty parking space next to a small park, when the senior agent fumbled out of his seat belt, bolted out the door and behind some bushes. The sounds emanating from the other side of the bush made it all too clear just how much difficult it had been and how much it cost the senior agent to play the cool professional at a crime scene involving his younger brother.

David went to the back of the SUV and pulled out a bottled water and clean rag. He found Don kneeling on the ground over a puddle of vomit, holding his stomach. His overall appearance was miserable. "Think you are done?" He asked.

In spite of his pallor, Don managed to flush slightly. "Look like a damn rookie." He ground out between clenched teeth..

"That's bunk and you know it. Frankly, I am not that far away from joining you and tossing a few cookies, myself. It makes me sick to think of this happening to Charlie, but he isn't my brother."

"I don't know what it's like for you, but I really visualize as I read the evidence at a crime scene. Having those pictures form with Charlie's face being the one battered, him trying to fight back, but getting taken away, I nearly lost it back there in front of G-d damn everyone. If I had let that happen, I would never be able to make the argument that I can handle being lead on this case to the powers that be."

"Come on, Don. I don't buy that. I really don't think any one there would have thought less of you if you had reacted more at the scene. As Colby said to me on the phone, this whole thing is whack. You are allowed to feel, man. You just can't let the emotions interfere with us doing the job." Watching Don make a face that clearly expressed how nasty his throat must feel, David handed him the water, suggesting, "Rinse and spit." He offered the rag for him to wipe his face with. "Why don't we grab that bench over there and give your head a couple of minutes to clear? I think you should wait a little before you actually swallow any water, though."

"Damn it, why didn't Charlie tell me about that Star of David incident?"

"Don, apparently, he took it as just that, an isolated incident."

"A Jewish professor has a yellow Star of David shoved under his office door. That's a warning, David. Charlie should have known that."

"Without a threatening note, there wouldn't have been much to go on. Maybe similar things have happened in the past and gone nowhere, so he didn't take it seriously. I've had some racist hate mail delivered to my place before. I just throw it away."

Don seemed to consider that as he rose and walked over to the bench to take a seat. "Look, I understand what you are saying, but he should have told me. I'm his brother."

"What could you do? If it had just been some malcontent student upset at having to take a course from a Jewish person, responding would probably just have stirred things up more. Sometimes not getting a reaction is enough to make it stop."

"Not this time, though." Don replied grimly.

"No, but Charlie had no way of knowing that. You know how he feels about psychic phenomenon, so he doesn't have a crystal ball hidden in his office and neither do you."

Don swallowed hard. "They hurt him. I know that was his blood on the wall – the height was just right. That woman professor said he looked like a dummy when he was taken away, so he must have been unconscious."

"He was alive, man. No reason to take a body away. That's the important thing. We will find him."

"From your mouth…" Eppes muttered. He furiously scrubbed at the frown wrinkles on his forehead, which actually ached. "How am I going to explain this to my Dad?" He leaned forward, his expression suggesting he was close to heaving again. The urge seemed to pass and he straightened up. "Why is some supremacist group after Charlie? What put him on their radar?"

"He's a public figure, world renowned, a tenured professor and pretty well set financially. One of them might have come to one of his Math for Non-Mathematicians lectures. The kids in those photos looked like young punks, probably from broken families with parents who have only taught them to hate and resent someone like Charlie. They assume everything he has was just handed to him. Hating someone for being different is plain stupid, but if that is all they have been taught. The larger question would be whether they came up with their scheme on their own; or, were they directed to do so by an older organizing group?"

Don looked thoughtful, considering the two possibilities. "Hopefully, we'll find out what the note says quickly. Right now, we don't have all that much to go on." Looking slightly sheepish, he asked. "Did you think to check again on the way out?"

"I did, Don. I didn't see his blue Prius anywhere in the parking lot. Want me to call in that BOLO? Give yourself a couple more minutes."

Reluctantly conceding he wasn't quite ready to resume their trek back to the office, Don nodded. "Thanks, David."

"No problem. It is going to take a while for Colby and Megan to rejoin us back to the office, at any rate. I'll be back in a flash."

Don allowed his thoughts to stray reluctantly back to the thought of how he was going to inform his father the youngest Eppes was missing, taken by a gang of young racists, the only clue a coded note with that damn word on the front. He shuddered. As protective as he was towards his younger brother, his father was ten thousand times more so. As an FBI agent, Don could actively try and find his brother. His father would only be able to sit, worry and wait, which would make this incomprehensively harder on. This was going to be the hardest thing he had ever had to do, telling Alan. He actually began to heave again, but there was nothing left in his stomach. The gall burned the back of his throat, but rose no farther. He would be going through plenty of Maalox and Rolaids until this whole matter was brought to a successful conclusion.

There were times it really sucked having been raised with no particular belief system. Don wasn't sure if he believed in a deity. He knew precious little about the religious practices of his own 'people'. Did Charlie believe in G-d? Amita mentioned one time that Einstein believed in God. It was therefore not beyond the realm of rational possibility, Charlie might believe it, as well. Don had heard somewhere that the Jewish tradition did not use all the letters in the name used for the supreme deity, but he had no idea why that was, perhaps a sign of respect.

Not long ago, during the art theft case that had been related to the Nazi's stealing art and property from the Jews in Europe, Charlie had remembered how their mom had wanted to have a Christmas tree. That had been a decorating preference, not a religious choice. The Mann bloodline was as Jewish as Eppes was. Charlie seemed to know such things. Indeed, it had been Charles who had explained to Don that, technically, their father being Jewish didn't matter. In opposition to many other World traditions, a child was Jewish, if born to a Jewish mother. The background of the father was irrelevant. He frowned thoughtfully, wondering how and at what point, his younger brother had learned that. What else did he know about their heritage that Don didn't? If the worst happened, would his little brother have a better understanding of exactly what he was dying for?

Ruthlessly, Eppes pulled his thoughts away from that awful prospect. That was not going to happen. Charlie would be okay. He would. They would get him back, alive – nothing else would be acceptable.

David Sinclair cleared his throat hesitantly. His lead agent's expressions suggested some of the thoughts that crossed his mind weren't pleasant ones. "How are you doing, Don?"

"Better. I think I'll still let you drive."

"Did you drink any water yet?"

Don shook his head. "I don't think that's a real good idea just now, David. I'll wait until we get back to the office. See if we have any 7Up in the fridge." He hesitated an instant.

"Look, man, I would appreciate it if…"

"No one will hear about this from me." The other man stated firmly.

"Thanks."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Megan looked at Professor Fleinhardt as they walked back to his office. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I doubt they are worthy even of that lowly unit of currency."

"You're frowning. I know you are worried about Charlie."

"Indeed I am, but, at the moment, I was contemplating the older brother."

"Don? What's bothering you about him?"

"Megan, I know how much Charles means to him. Yet, he seemed so cold, so detached, so distant, so…."

"Professional?" She suggested. "Larry, you realize he has to keep it together, to bring his considerable talent and experience to bear on this case. I'm afraid I added to the pressure on him when I mentioned I thought he'd have a difficult time convincing those higher up this should be his case."

Both hands went up to Larry's cheeks and his eyebrows rose to his hairline. "They mustn't take this away from him. I can not imagine him not taking lead on this. Don is certainly the most motivated to bring this investigation to a successful conclusion."

"That's why he was being so ultra professional at the scene, so there really won't be any reason to remove him. I know that has to have come at a terrible cost. I caught just a few brief glimpses behind his game face. Don is very, very upset, Larry. He is as close to outright panic, as I have ever seen him."

"Well, my dear, you did not see him during that awful time Crystal Boyle had you. Don was like a man possessed that time, totally driven. In fact, it was Charles who surprised me during that same period."

Megan tilted her head, regarding her rather timid beau with curiosity. "How did he do that?"

Larry rolled up on his toes, as he suddenly regarded his feet with an interest that suggested a quantum singularity had opened beneath them. "I might have suggested Charlie was not upset enough about your status."

Megan bit her lips to keep a surprised outcry from escaping and waited for an elaboration. When one wasn't forthcoming, she simply nudged him with her elbow.

"Hmmm? I told him you were a captive, possibly gravely wounded and it was a time him to come up with a solution and not venture into intellectual musings." When one of Megan's hands flew to her lips to restrain her reaction, he hung his head as if somewhat ashamed to admit more. "He said he was every bit as concerned about you as I am, which I may have expressed vehement doubt about."

Shaking her head from side to side, she nudged him again. "His reaction?"

"He was actually quite erudite in his response."

She nodded, encouragingly. "Of course he was…"

"Charles went on, with absolute clarity, as if I had never interrupted him. 'But for me to help, I need to maintain an even temper and a lucid thought process, so your anxiety is understandable, but it's not helpful.' "

Megan acknowledged, "he was entirely correct."

"Definitely…" Larry responded, "yet I went on to tacitly acknowledge that, but added that I was 'clouded with emotions and I am perversely resenting you for your clear headedness here."

Megan's eyes got rather huge. "Oh, uh, my goodness. How did Charlie respond to that?"

"He was amazingly calm. I acknowledged he was in fact, correct and asked what I could do to help. He quite forthrightly told me, 'Right now? Leave.' "

Shock was the closest term to express the look on the profiler's face, immediately followed by a proud grin. "Our socially awkward young professor showed he is all grown up. Lawrence, please promise me you won't go anywhere near Don with a similar approach during this crisis."

Genuine fear seemed to spark in her boyfriend's eyes. "Indeed not. The elder Eppes brother carries a rather impressive firearm."

"I don't think he'd shoot you, Fleinhardt, but I trust you are far too wise to even attempt such a maneuver." More seriously, Megan went on. "See, self control in a crisis is in that family's genetic code."

"That may not hold true when the patriarch finds out what has happened to his youngest, sweetheart."

The attractive agent cast her eyes down, fighting her own emotions. "I can't even imagine that. Mr. Eppes is going to be so distraught. Don insists he has to tell him, but I am going to do everything I can to convince him to let me go along."

"Should I be present? Alan and I understand each other, quite well."

"He'll need your support soon afterwards, but, if you were actually to come along, I think Alan would know immediately realize something was seriously amiss."

"Let me know when it is appropriate for me to arrive."

"You are assuming my lead agent will let ME tag along. That is, in no way, guaranteed, Larry."

"Dear heart, I have complete confidence in your powers of persuasion." Fleinhardt assured her. "The next door down is Professor Tauray's office. She should be there now. Come on; I'll introduce you."


	6. Chapter 6: Charlie in Chains

Krystallnacht

Chapter 6: Charlie in Chains

_The story continues...sorry it has taken so long to update. This chapter has not been beta'd, but I want to get something up, as you have all been patient. I just finished writing Chapter 7, but I am going to set it aside a while and review it a few more times before I post. As mentioned before, I am not doing this to profit, I don't intend to kill any series characters off. On to the tale at hand..._

Coming back to awareness was fraught with discomfort this time, Charlie noted at once. He ached terribly every place on his body. His head had fallen to one side at some point, leaving his neck so painful he thought for a moment moving it would be impossible. He knew two things at once. His situation had not changed favorably and he had to figure a way to meet certain bodily needs, soon! In spite of the pain, he allowed his head to bounce against the wall behind him lightly, a time or two. Somehow he didn't think his captors had provided toilet facilities in this black void he currently had to call his abode.

_Well, time to try and move, Charlie. Standing alone may take a bit more effort. This damp is not conducive to joints being supple. Okay, here goes._

He carefully and slowly pushed himself to his feet, using the wall behind him to assist the process along. He felt a bit dizzy, so once he reached his feet, he just leaned against the wall for a time. He couldn't help but smile as he thought,

_Larry, if you were here, we could really have an interesting discourse on the TRUE meaning of relativity in regards to time. When you have no real way of measuring the passage of time, all the perceptions of it alter, rather dramatically. Time is relative means something quite different to me here, Larry. I'm glad you aren't in this mess with me, my friend. Hope I get a chance to share such thoughts with you._

_I will not surrender to gloom and hopelessness. I have to stay positive. I will survive this. I will see home and friends again. _

He couldn't keep his eyes from tearing up and his lips from trembling as he thought those thoughts. Staying positive under these circumstances would not be easy, but giving in to despair. He felt certain that would be the worst thing he could possibly do.

_Logically, it seems the best course is for me to see how far my restraints will let me wander away from where I am, before I relieve myself. Okay, but which direction shall I go? Left for bathroom purposes, I guess. L stands for lavatory. See if I can reach a corner._

He found walking difficult with the ankle restraints restricting his steps, one hand trailing along the wall to maintain some sort of orientation, one in front of him to feel his way, like someone newly or temporarily blind. He remembered Monty Evans, one of his closer acquaintances his first year at Princeton. Monty had accepted him more readily than most, Charlie still believed, because he couldn't see the obvious difference between him and most of the other students.

_Thank heavens for Monty, he helped keep me sane and in school that first year. I had never had a close relationship with a blind person before. That was an amazing experience. He showed how to do this – find the way in the dark. I'll never forget when that time I told him how brave I thought he was. He laughed._

"_Charlie, that is a crock of bullshit. It doesn't take courage to wander about in the dark, if you have never known what it is to walk in light. It's just a fact of life."_

All at once, his seeking right hand encountered another wall in front of him. He swallowed; his wandering thought pattern had meant that he was startled when he suddenly felt it there.

_Guess I should have counted how many steps it took. Well, I will ponder the dimensions and other qualities of my accommodations at another moment. Down to business here, Charlie._

He felt the heat of his embarrassment at having to do this under these circumstances. He sometimes had to answer nature's call along a hiking trail, but this was different. He couldn't avoid the uncomfortable sense someone was observing him and taking silent delight in his circumstances. He surmised part of the reason for this particular situation was to embarrass and humiliate him. Well, having to go didn't really leave any options, so just do it, damn it! He felt around until he stood facing the corner, a hand could touch each wall. When he felt he was in position, he nearly stumbled. His feet had encountered something. He carefully felt down the walls until he found it.

Aha! They had, in fact, provided something – there was a plastic bucket here. It had a lid which he pulled off. Curious, he felt around inside. Hmm. There was a paper bag. He lifted it slightly and noted it had some thing in it, so he placed that on the outside of his right foot, slid the lid behind the bucket temporarily, quickly made sure the bucket was empty of any other contents. He stood up again, using his feet to be sure of his aim in the dark, fumbled with his fly, took care of business, put the lid back on the bucket, leaned down sideways until he could retrieve his prize. He carefully positioned himself to complete the reverse of his outward trek. That took both thought and effort. With his right side now against the wall, he had to get the chains straight so that they wouldn't impede his progress or trip him.

His thoughts wandered back to Monty. Evans had an endless supply of jokes that poked fun at his own blindness. One of his favorites came to mind readily.

As they walked the halls of the building where Charlie shared an apartment with his mom, en route to study together there, for the first time, Charlie had asked. "How do I do this, Monty? How do I show you around the apartment?"

"Don't sweat it. I'll 'walk' you through it. You need to lighten up, man. You have done great, asking me how I wanted to handle it before you led me any place. It is really just more of the same. Say, have I ever told you my favorite Helen Keller joke?"

Charlie had almost tripped both of them, he was so startled. "Huh? Uh, no."

"What do Helen Keller's parents do to punish her?" Monty asked, barely suppressing his grin.

"Gee, Montgomery, I have no idea." Charlie was honestly confused about where this was going.

"Re-arrange the furniture!"

Charles Eppes may have been a genius prodigy, but it had taken him a few moments of serious consideration, while Evans waited patiently for the meaning to sink in. When it did, Charlie had first groaned then burst into giggles that had both of them walking crooked for a moment. "Monty, we have to stop a minute. My eyes are teared up and I can't see."

At this, Monty had switched the position of their arms, exclaiming. "Oh, look! The blind are leading the blind."

_Yes, Monty, – in a way, the blind are still leading the blind, here. You are with me, my friend. When I get out of here, I'll have to call up and tell you thanks. You gave me humor in a dark situation. No pun intended this time. _

The silence was too quiet suddenly. A song began to run through his mind, unrelenting. No wonder, this had been a favorite of both Charlie's Mom and Monty's mother, so they used to sing it together. They had established a natural harmony from the very first time.

Finding no credible reason to resist the urge, and not caring if his silent captors thought he was losing it, Charlie began to sing it aloud. As he did, his mind drifted back and he could almost hear Monty's voice singing along, picture looking over at him on the floor next to the coffee table where they were taking a brief break in their homework study to share the song.

The words came back readily to his lips.

_When you're weary, feeling small,_

_When tears are in your eyes, _

_I will dry them all;_

_I'm on your side._

_Oh, when times get rough_

_And friends just can't be found,_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down._

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down. _

_When you're down and out,_

_When you're on the street,_

_When evening falls, so hard_

_I will comfort you._

_I'll take your part._

_When darkness comes_

_And pain is all around,_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down._

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down._

_Sail on silver bird, sail on by._

_Your time has come to shine._

_All your dreams on their way, _

_See how they shine._

_Oh, and if you need a friend, _

_I'm sailing right behind._

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind._

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind._

The young captive had paused in his progress, while he sang. He sighed, smiling a little at the warmth and light of the memory, as he resumed his careful forward momentum until he reached where the left side of his chains originated, he carefully worked things out say he wound up once more with his chains on either side and his back to the wall. He slowly eased his way back down the wall until he was sitting on the cement floor.

Once he had his seat, Charlie carefully opened the bag and felt inside. He had already surmised there were two bottles in it and something else which squished a bit when he squeezed it. As he took the first bottle out, he quickly guessed it was about an 8 ounce bottle of water. The second bottle was smaller and oddly shaped with a strange feeling top to his questing fingers. He pondered a moment – juice maybe? He shrugged. Feeling down to the bottom of the bag, he found the last item to be a hunk of what felt like French bread. It was rather dry, but it smelled like bread. His stomach growled in anticipation.

_Well, not overgenerous perhaps, but my captors don't seem to want me to completely starve. Of course, who knows if or when I will receive further provisions. _

His stomach loudly rebelled at the thought of any idea of rationing. He really was hungry. He debated a moment if he should drink the water with his meager repast, or the contents of the other bottle. He decided the smaller bottle should be consumed, first. He had to carefully feel the structure of its lid. In the dark, he didn't want to open it wrong and spill the contents. The bottle was definitely liquid. He shook it before he attempted to open it. That done he carefully manipulated the lid until it came off successfully. He sniffed. It had a vanilla scent that was slightly medicinal. Probably some sort of liquid breakfast type thing, maybe that stuff his dad had used once when he was too consumed with some fascinating math problem to bother eating regularly – what was that stuff called again?

_Ensure, I think._

He tasted it and resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in disdain. It was a good source of vitamins.

_Yep, it's that same stuff. I told Dad it wasn't really fit for human consumption, but I drank it to give him some peace of mind._

_Under my present circumstances, as Mom always used to tell me, beggars can't be choosers. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth…and all that jazz._

He sipped it, alternating between the drink and chewing on the very dry bread. He would have had a time eating the bread without some kind of fluid to moisten his throat which decidedly lacked its' normal amount of saliva. He had become dehydrated.

Charlie bowed his head and swallowed the first bite of bread, grateful for what little he had. He'd save the water until later. He ate his meal allowing the returned numb3rs in his mind to cause him to calculate how many calories he might expect to draw from what he had. Not much perhaps, but it was definitely better than nothing at all.

As he ate, his thoughts wandered outwards again.

_I wonder how long it has been. Do they know I am missing yet? I sure hope so. I know it can't have been that long, but it seems like forever since I heard a friendly voice or saw anything in light. _

_Please, find me, Don. I'm trying to stay strong. I have a feeling the worst hasn't even begun yet, but I hope I will be able to endure whatever is ahead of me in a way that won't shame you and Dad. I'll do the best I can. I love you guys, so much. I know I don't say that often enough, but I really do. _

For a moment, he couldn't swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, but he struggled to get the emotions under control.

_I'll stay strong. I will. Just find me, Don. You take care of Dad in the meantime…and let him take care of you, too, bro. He'll need to do that. Let him fuss over you a bit, gracefully for a change. Do that, for me, big brother, please. Hug Dad for me. I'm hugging you both right now, in my heart._


	7. Chapter 7: Open Case File

Krystallnacht

Chapter 7: Open Case File

_Sorry it has taken so long to get this posted, but I was ill for over a week and therefore did not get much done. This chapter was being beta'd when I got sick, so now that it is back and revised, I am putting it up. Hopefully, Chapter 8 won't take too long to finish and get beta'd. In spite of the assistance of my beta, all errors which remain are, sadly, all my fault. Now, back to the story. Still don't own the characters, won't make a profit and promise to cause them no irreversible damage._

Upon arriving at FBI headquarters, Don left David to park the car and checked in at security without really speaking to anyone. He was grateful for the fact that the elevator he rode up on was empty, as his throat had tightened into a knot that would have interfered rather obviously with any effort to talk. Upon reaching his floor, thankfully still alone, he exited and headed straight to the break room. He opened the fridge and thanked whatever nameless co-worker had left a few squat bottles of Canada Dry Ginger Ale in there. The office rules were simple, unidentified soft drinks were available for any one to use. He fished out two, knowing it was definitely best to avoid the brackish fluid that tended to pass for coffee in the break room, this time of day. Holding one cool bottle up to his forehead to try and ease the ache still present between his eyebrows, he went over to his seat in the bullpen and wearily sank into the chair, allowed his mind to go blank for just a moment, hoping to regain focus. A brief moment later, he opened his eyes to see David nodding approval at the sight of the ginger ale in his hands. "Want one?" He offered.

David shook his head. "I think you had better hang on to the extra one. Be right back, I'm going to grab myself a bottle of water."

Don nodded, opening a file on his computer to begin a document regarding his brother's case. He swallowed hard.

_My brother's case…God, I never wanted to have to create a file for a missing person case for my only brother. It's one thing to have to track his involvement in my cases, but, for him to be the case, especially one like this. This is going to be damn hard to compartmentalize. Stifle the emotions, Eppes. You have to bring your absolute best to this one! _

The phone on his desk rang, providing a welcome distraction from his internal dialogue.

"Eppes," Don answered, pleased his voice was steady and firm. He allowed himself to uncoil some of the tension in his neck and shoulders, when Granger's voice filtered back a greeting and responded. "Hey, are you on your way back in?"

"Yes, I'm almost there. I contacted Lt. Walker to see if the LAPD gang unit has anything under the acronym, APM. I hope that's okay." The younger agent's voice sounded more than a little uncertain.

"Good, good. The sooner we can find out if this is a known group, the better. You actually reached Walker?"

"He answered the phone himself, which kind of surprised me. He said the letter combination did ring a bell. Boss, he inquired what this was in connection with, so I filled him in a little."

Immediately uncomfortable, but not wanting to sound critical, Don chewed on his lower lip and waited for elaboration.

Granger hurried on. "The lieutenant just wanted to know what the inquiry was related to. I told him it would fall under the heading of a hate crime, specifically anti-Semitism – clearly federal jurisdiction, but I did tell him it was a missing person."

Don had leaned back in his chair, but now he leaned forward, spooning his cell phone against his shoulder as he started flipping through his Rolodex to find Walker's contact number. He trusted the LAPD officer, but the last thing he needed was any kind of turf war developing between the local police and the FBI, so he wanted to be prepared to perform damage control, if it was necessary.

Granger plowed on. "Don, I didn't want to identify who was involved on the phone – even our cellulars can be picked up on some scanners, so I told him to contact you for the particulars, but that we suspected strongly that the A did stand for Aryan. Also, that this case is extremely sensitive and urgent. He promised to gather any information they might have and get it to us ASAP."

The Agent in Charge sighed, relaxing slightly. "Good, thanks, Colby. I want to try and keep this away from the media, as long as possible." The thought of this becoming a breaking news item made his stomach pitch and roll. He twisted open his first bottle of ginger ale. "See you when you get here." He listened to the response and closed the cell phone.

David stood next to his desk. "Was that, Colby?"

Don nodded in response, took a tentative sip from the bottle and grimaced. "He will be here, shortly. Think I'll let that flatten out a little before I drink it."

Sinclair handed him a paper cup. "Pour it in here – it should lose the fizz faster, if it has more area exposed to air at once."

On auto pilot, Don accepted the cup, set it on his desk and poured the bottle into it. As he did, he remarked, "My brother could probably quote you chapter and verse on the best method to flatten a soft drink, but the idea that it will happen faster in a cup instead of the bottle makes sense to me." He immediately turned the conversation back to the phone call. "Colby contacted Lt. Walker to see if the APM is a known gang."

"Okay, guess I can check that off my 'to do' list." The other agent sat down at his desk, activated his computer and added. "I'm going to Google it and see if I come up with anything."

"Let me know." Don answered, going back to creating an e-mail to send to his immediate supervisor, Merrick, describing the case that had landed in his teams lap in the vaguest terms possible while still conveying its serious nature. He was well aware that the lack of specifics identifying the victim and other particulars would most likely earn him a trip to the man's office to explain, but some fights were best delayed and handled face to face, so he quickly finished the brief synopsis, marked the communication urgent and hit send, saving a copy as he did. Hopefully the assistant director would be occupied in higher matters today and wouldn't notice the communication until things were well under way.

Don settled down to the busy work any case brought to his job. He created a file on his desktop for the case, put the saved copy of the sent interoffice e-mail into it, and went back to the case document, outlining all the steps his team had taken in the case so far, this action allowed him to create the start of a case log. He forced himself to work this, as he would any other case he worked.

As he followed his normal routine, he wrestled for emotional control of the situation. Once he had the initial document saved into the case folder, he set about tying the information with the generic case report number he had drawn earlier when Reeves had first contacted him. Such numbers had to be issued before a forensics team could be ordered, so he had done that immediately after her call, when the information was still comfortingly vacuous.

Now, he had to enumerate the nature of the crimes involved for classification purposes – missing person, hate crime, etc. He waited until the revised case number was assigned by the database and gave the file that number on his computer, saving his work frequently. He had to allot resources step by step, justifying each action for future review.

When he had completed the task to his satisfaction, he tested the ginger ale, hoping his mother's favorite remedy would settle the queasiness that still troubled him. When the next couple of sips stayed down, he opened his desk drawer, popped the lid off his Excedrin and tapped the bottle until four of the tablets were in his palm.

Before he could close the bottle, he heard the wheels of Sinclair's chair creak towards him and silently handed the bottle over to the other agent who accepted it, drew out two of the tablets himself and handed the bottle back without a word. Both men tossed the aspirin back at the same time without being conscious of it, until Granger's voice sounded from above them.

"Could I have a couple, too?" He accepted the bottle gratefully. "My head is killing me. Thanks, boss." Colby handed the medicine back to his lead agent. "I think we better stock up on these and the antacids." Don quietly held up the unopened bottle of ginger ale. "Sure you don't need that more than I do?"

Eppes frowned. "Why, am I visibly green around the gills?"

"No, but you don't look like you are ready for seven course meal, either." At the grimace that put on the other man's face, Granger added. "Guess I could have phrased that differently."

Don shook his head. "Don't sweat it. I do have a bottle of Mylanta in the desk, if you need it."

David commented. "Between us, we probably have a pharmacy of over the counter remedies."

Granger walked over to his seat before he twisted open the bottle and took the pills. "It just felt so wrong going in your house, for something like this." He shrugged, unable to express what he wanted to say with any eloquence. "I put the mail on the table just inside the doorway, Don. There was quite a bit of it. I glanced through it real quick, just to be sure it was all mail and not any kind of communication from the perps."

"Thanks, Colby." Don genuinely appreciated the thoughtfulness of that action. "I didn't think to tell you to check for that. Who did you get to watch the house?"

"Darlington – he's a good guy. He promised to call as soon as your dad shows up."

The thought of that call nearly brought what Don had just gotten into his stomach back up on him. He did not want to think about how he would tell his father the news. He shook his head, grabbed a pad of Post-it's and jotted down the case number and classification on two different pages, tearing them off and handing them to each agent in turn. "That's the case number. If any one asks any questions, refer them to me. I'll be right back." He stood up and headed to the men's room.

As they stealthily observed the lead agent leaving the area, Colby asked David. "How's he doing?"

"He's keeping it together. He doesn't want this taken away from us, made that clear straight off."

Granger shook his head. "I wouldn't want to be in the shoes of anybody who tries to take this case away from him. Think Merrick will go along with it? It isn't exactly protocol for Don to take lead with Charlie being his brother, but damn… He's one of us, Dave."

"Damn straight. We didn't hand off when Megan was taken by Crystal Boyle."

"If you think about it, we really didn't ask permission, one way or the other. We just handled it, but it was part of a case we were already on. This is different."

David arched an eyebrow at his partner, saying dryly. "You plan on pointing that out to Don?"

Granger's eyes bugged out a little, at the idea. "Hell, no! I'm just saying those higher up the chain of command may take issue."

"I think we can trust that battle to the boss." When Don's phone rang, David answered it, "Eppes' desk, Agent Sinclair speaking. Hello, Lt. Walker, he is away from his desk, but I can get him if….oh, I see. I'll tell him that. Thank you. Bye." He hung up and shared the info with Colby as he wrote a note. "Walker should be here in the next few minutes. Says he will bring us up to speed. I assume that means he has something for us."

Colby nodded and settled down to his own work on the computer.

When Don returned a few minutes later, David filled him in. "Lt. Walker is on his way."

Don nodded. "Find anything on the Internet?" He had noticed the Google inquiry on the agent's computer monitor, but didn't look any closer as he sat down.

"Loads of entries under APM; so far, nothing appears relevant to this case. I am going to try some other combinations. I'll let you know, if I find anything."

Don nodded and answered his desk phone, as it rang. He became involved in a brief conversation about a former case, irritated when it took a while to complete the call to the other party's satisfaction. Once he had finished that, he leaned back in his chair to consider his next step, rubbing the ache at the back of his neck.


	8. Chapter 8: Finding Links

Krystallnacht

Chapter 8: Finding Links

_Ah, the holidays fall upon us (or in my case, all over us)! This has been beta'd, yet as always, the errors that remain are my fault and mine alone. Hope you all have wonderful holidays. I am hard at work on the next chapter. Sorry this has taken so long to get this far, but sometimes, life does get in the way. For peace of mind for all my readers, a gentle reminder is in order. Though they are far from the end of this journey, I promise to do no permanent damage to the brothers Eppes or their father. I may fold, bend, spindle or mutilate…well, not so much the last, but I do not kill my favorite characters. I am making no money off this adventure into fan generated fiction, so please don't sue. 12-22-2006, SMB aka Hemel Lassie_

Don ran general law enforcement case inquiries to see if there were any other reported missing persons in the LA area that might be related to his brother's case. There were several that might fill one criteria or another; enough that he flagged them to contact the lead person on the case, some FBI, several involving LAPD and other area law enforcement departments. Where he could, he pulled up actual initial reports and was able to rule out a few immediately, but found four more he definitely needed to follow up on.

This was the tedious part of his job, trying to find links where none might exist, but it was a necessary step this early in an investigation. Information sharing had proved crucial in enough of his cases over the years that it was not something he would ever disregard. His personal feelings dictated he look extra hard at each possible hit for any conceivable connection. This wasn't a duty he wanted to delegate, so he plugged away at it.

A hush fell over the normal din of the bull pen as the three agents concentrated on their respective tasks until David broke the silence about twenty minutes later.

"Don, I couldn't find any listings under the exact acronym APM, which appeared relevant on any of the standard search engines. I'm going to check on My Space, considering the age group of the five we could see in the pictures."

Granger chimed in, "There has been a spike in anti-Semitic literature, blogs, etc. reported recently in this area. Both LAPD and LA County Sheriffs are reporting an associated increase in synagogues having Nazi type graffiti defacing their grounds, Jewish community meetings disrupted, damage to cars in the parking lots, things like that. A lot of the heat seems generated by the 'illegal Zionist inspired war in the Middle East' rhetoric, but some incidents were more general. I have a lot to go through here. I am trying to see if there have been any specific threats against intellectuals or educational figures, like Charlie."

"I have found several missing person cases that may be relevant. In the past two weeks alone, three rabbis, a cantor, an instructor of Judaic studies at USC and two noted Jewish doctors have gone missing. I'm going to follow up on those with the leads in each case." Don commented.

"Seven Jewish individuals in this area missing in just the last two weeks? Does that seem a little high?" David Sinclair asked.

"Hey, buddy, how many Black people have gone missing in the same time period?" Colby pointed out.

"That's exactly why following up is so important." Don remarked. "Frankly considering the 'white purity' angle, we might want to check on those stats to see if any skinhead, racist or neo-Nazi angle that has been noted in relation to any Black missing persons of them to date."

"Right, as Charlie would say, the more data the better. We are all beginning to sound like him, man." Seeing Don's expression, Colby added quickly. "Not that that is a bad thing!"

The phone on Don's desk rang. He answered it quickly and told the other two agents. "That was Walker. He's parking now; so I'm going down to meet him outside. I need to stretch my legs." He stood, and put his suit jacket back on before heading for the elevators.

By the time Don walked out the doors, Lt. Gary Walker was coming across the walkway that linked the office building with their parking garage, which was across the street. The aerial walkway was relatively deserted at the moment. They met midway and Walker held out his hand. "Hey, Don, who is your missing person?"

"To the point as always, Gary." Don glanced down, composing himself to get the words out. "It's my brother." The simple statement seemed the best way to go.

"Damn, I'm sorry to hear that. When your man called, I got the feeling you guys were taking this pretty personally, but the professor? I didn't see that coming."

Don arched an eyebrow. "Trust me, neither did I."

"How exactly does the connection with the APM, come in?"

"Let me bring you up to speed." As the two men walked into the building's lobby area, Don related everything that had happened to bring the situation to his attention and all the steps taken in the investigation so far.

As they cleared the security checkpoint in the lobby and headed to the elevator bank, the lieutenant broke into the flow of his narrative to ask. "You haven't mentioned your father. Doesn't he live with your brother any more?"

"He does, but my dad spent the night down in San Diego yesterday evening, related to his consulting business. He isn't back yet, so I will have to notify him once he arrives home, this evening."

"Don, if you want me to handle the notification …"

"Gary, I appreciate the offer, but I am going to do that myself." With a heavy sigh, Don finished his summation. "The note I mentioned earlier was written in code, so our crypto department working to decipher it." He added. "While we were still on scene, Professor Fleinhardt brought us a memory card given to him by another colleague, Professor Tauray. She was trying out her new digital camera on campus grounds. She got pictures of five young men dressed in Nazi period costumes going into the Charlie's building last night. Later, the same witness saw the same individuals leave, supporting what she assumed to be a dummy." He swallowed hard, as he said the last part.

"Damn, it's a shame she didn't contact someone right away, Don. Did you get the pictures?"

"Look, it was Halloween, so her first reaction was that the costumes showed very poor taste by some students. We have the memory card and the pictures. Megan should be about finished getting the official statements on campus. That brings you up to date." His eyes narrowed as he regarded the LAPD officer. "What do you have on the APM?"

"APM does stand for Aryan Purity Movement. The group started back in the 70's, but has been classified as small potatoes compared to most LA gangs." Walker held up the briefcase he had in his left hand. "Want me to start the briefing, here?" They were on an elevator with a few other passengers.

Granting the point, Don responded. "We'll go to the war room. You can set up your show and tell there."

"That'll work." Gary agreed.

When the two arrived at the floor, Don indicated his two agents should join them in the war room, where Lt. Walker put his brief case on a table near the front of the room and opened it.

"As I told Don a moment ago, APM does stand for Aryan Purity Movement. The gang followed a typical evolution from a youth group that originally called themselves, Poor White Trash Boyz. Initially, they organized more in reaction to the gangs they were not welcome in. They weren't black, Hispanic, or oriental, so they started their own group. Their activity has been low level compared to the gangs that are always in the news. They started with graffiti, Internet chat traffic, and vandalism. The money for gangs is in drug dealing, but they never dealt enough to earn retribution from the more commonly known gangs. The violence they committed was to try and carve out small pockets of turf, as their own.

"The group was spread out too diffusely to have much impact. Their zones bordered on those of established gangs, but they avoided crossing the lines. They weren't liked by the opposition, but they didn't pose enough of a threat to spark much reaction. They drew their members from music clubs played by White racist music bands.

"The strongest leader moved east, about two and a half years ago, and his pack began to evolve. That's when the name changed to Aryan Purity Movement. The members now primarily live in the communities of Glendora, San Dimas, La Verne, with some spillover into Pomona."

"Their rhetoric has become much more aggressive and centered especially on…" Gary sketched out quote marks as he said, "the Jewish conspiracy to control finances and education."

"The neighborhoods you said the members live in are not that far from Cal Sci." David noted out loud.

"You are correct, David. That is why I brought copies of everything we have on this group."

Don commented. "It sounds like you have a lot more information on them then we do."

Walker nodded. "I have tracked the evolution of this gang from its infancy. I always had a feeling they would graduate to more serious crimes eventually." He looked directly at the lead agent and added. "Don, your brother has become a very popular resource, among law enforcement in this whole region. All law enforcement in the area is going to view him being taken very personally. He isn't just a member of your family. He is one of us. You will get any all help I can offer. I am certain that will be true across the board. I have established liaisons with all the individual cities I mentioned. We've worked well together in the past. Those contacts are at your disposal." He looked from man to man, coming back to meet Don's eyes last. "How long do you plan on keeping this out of the media?"

"As long as possible, Gary; I don't want this generating a sound-byte frenzy."

"I understand that."

"Gary, were you aware that there have been seven missing person cases, involving Jewish individuals?" Granger asked.

His briefing so far hadn't brought this up. "Seven? How recent are they?"

"Within the past two weeks," David filled in. "I'll show you what we have so far."

"We'll get in to that in a minute. David, can you bring up the pictures Professor Tauray took last night?"

"Ready, Don." David hit a few buttons on a laptop ready for this in the room. The images were displayed on the largest plasma screen in the room.

Lt. Gary Walker moved closer to the screen and studied the images thoughtfully. He pointed to one of the images, the one with the first two young men who entered the building. "That is Herman Mueller in the SS officer outfit. He liked to strut around in Nazi style get up at meetings of the gang." He opened a file he took from his briefcase and referred to it as he continued. "Mueller's mother is Kathleen Baumgarden Mueller. She has moved the family to the outer limits of LA as she made more money, trying to get them away from negative influences. The neo-Nazism beliefs of her son have nothing to do with her. She's a real nice woman, though she has absolute faith that his leanings 'in that direction are just a phase'. There are two sons and she's a single mom. Kathy worked at a bank when I first met her, but she is a real estate mortgage broker last I heard. The family has moved three times since Herman came up on the gang task force radar, to progressively nicer areas, but Herman seems to maintain contacts with old groups and start new ones.

"The younger brother, Michael, wasn't involved with the gang the last time I talked with him. That was also two years ago. He would not criticize his brother, but my impression was that he didn't agree with the beliefs Herman espoused. He admitted to me he had several friends some who were Jewish and a couple of black friends, but he seemed afraid of his brother finding that out. Michael is a classic geek, a real computer nerd, very into math and science, shy in social situations, unless it's with other nerds. He was a good kid, but he adored his older brother." Walker carefully looked at the other pictures. "None of these images are Michael. Hopefully, he isn't involved in this.

"The boys' father is named Wilhelm Mueller. He is in prison in Idaho, for the murder of a rabbi and desecrating a synagogue. There is a real prince of a fellow, strongly connected to the American Nazi party. He made a bit of a name for himself as a proponent of the whole 'the Holocaust was a myth' bullcrap. Herman's hate training came from his dad, before he went to prison.

"The younger brother Michael never really got to know his father. Once Wilhelm was arrested, the mother was able to terminate the out of state parental visits during the summers and alternate Christmases, but I'm afraid Herman was already pretty indoctrinated.

"I'm not surprised that Herman is involved. He has a violent streak. He's a natural born rabble rouser. He always had real leadership potential. I was afraid he'd graduate to serious violence eventually. He has beaten his younger brother up a few times, though nothing bad enough for official complaints." He continued to study the images, flipped open a lager folder he pulled out the briefcase, spread out several photos on a table, and compared them to the other young men depicted on the plasma screen. "Okay, this guy, he has been with Mueller, pretty much from the beginning. His name is Tobias Wynter, spelled with a 'y' not an 'i'. He is the only one I know who has an actual record – assaults increasing in violence over the years. He's been in and out of juvenile detention. I'll have my people see, if we can get a last known address on him and verify where the Mueller's live currently, as well."

Don felt relief surge in his entire system, like a fresh shot of caffeine. Progress! Two of the suspects were identified. This was more than he had hoped for. It was a real starting place. "Can you get us fingerprint cards for both Mueller and Wynter?"

Smiling grimly, Gary handed over info sheets on both which included photographs, fingerprints and a summary of the known history of each person. "It's a start."

"Hell of a lot more than we had before you came, Gary. Thanks. Let's get rolling on this." Don's cell phone rang and he flipped it open. "Eppes? Hey, Megan, what have you got? Good deal – Lt. Walker is here and he just handed us names for two of our suspects. Yeah, it's a damn good start. You're on your way in? What? They have something? Yeah, I hear them, sounds like it's a work in progress. How long until you get here? All right, see you soon." His excitement built, as he relayed. "She's bringing Amita and Larry in with her. They have made progress deciphering the note, but they are still working on it. Okay, until they get here, Gary, would you like to use the phone in here? Check with your people. I'm going to check my messages at the desk and get a few things together. Colby, hang here in case you can help the lieutenant with anything."

Walker turned to Granger. "Could you scan these info sheets and get them down to your crime scene techs, while I make my calls?"

Colby nodded. "Sure thing."

"I'm going to check a couple of things at my desk. I'll come back in, as soon as I'm done." David Sinclair stated, with the most optimism he had felt since he saw the condition of Charlie's office. He could see that feeling reflected from both Don and Colby. It was good to have a solid direction for the investigation to go.


	9. Chapter 9: Cookies and Milk

Krystallnacht

Chapter 9: Cookies and Milk

_That probably seems like an odd title for a chapter in this story, but read through the end and all will be explained. Taking into consideration the most recent, new episode the facts in the story have adjusted to fit what we now know. Larry is looking forward to a trip into space, Larry and Megan are an item. Charlie and Amita have settled down into a couple. Alan is seeing Mildred. I know many are waiting for a Charlie chapter, but I wanted Alan to know what has happened before we peak in on his youngest son again. _

_Posting the new, improved (it has been beta'd) version of this chapter, today, I wanted to pop up and apologize it took so long. I have been really ill and unable to spend time on the computer for anything, plus my beta reader had a whole series of trials and tribulations over the holidays (thanks for your immeasurable assistance, dear Alice!) so it took a while to get the corrections back. Now, I have made the changes, it's a stronger, better read for it, I think. I apologize again and thanks for hanging in there. Hopefully we can all move forward this year with less troubles than the end of the last seemed to bring!_

_Sylvia Bartlett Mohr aka Hemel Lassie 1-14-2007_

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Megan bit back a smile, as the elevator indicated one more floor before the unit's. Don had told her to lead the professors' straight to the war room, as they would have room to hook up their computers and spread out a bit while they continued their code breaking work. Listening to the debate with a profiler's frame of reference, she observed that Amita had an edge on the stronger side of logic, while Larry's solution to deciphering what was emerging seemed esoteric and a bit, well, out there. It may have been quite fitting from a cosmological point of view, but zeroing in on the info via the Fleinhardt method would certainly take more time than could be afforded with Charlie's well being hanging in the balance.

The profiler knew her beau. What was the best way to nudge the process in the most productive direction?

"_The tipping point seems to be time. His approach will take too much of it. In that, Amita is right, but how do I point that out so Larry will understand?"_

Megan decided that a direct appeal on a time frame basis would be the most effective. "Sweetheart, I am neither a mathematician nor a physicist, but it sounds like Amita is saying your approach, though possibly more definitive, would be too time consuming. It might work, if you could use the super computer at Cal Sci, but didn't you already say that has been ruled out by budgetary concerns and time critical projects which are taking up processing time right now?"

The little man sighed heavily. "Yes, Mildred has stated unequivocally we can not have a block of time, for, at least, another 48 hours. The project that is running currently is time sensitive. One of our graduate students' defense of her doctorate and the project for my journey into space ride on it."

Megan went on, firmly, "You had better help Amita fine tune her approach, Larry. An additional 48 hours longer before you could start to run this down, by your method, is just too long. The optimal window to find a missing person is the first 48 hours. Based on when Professor Tauray saw those men take Charlie away, the first 24 hours are almost gone."

Larry winced at the plain stated fact. "You are right, Megan. We have to be practical. Charles's well being is so clearly at stake. Time is not something we can afford to waste." He almost moaned. "The time I have spent with him of late has been shortened because I was so angry over his lack of support for my space venture. Did you know I threatened to strike him the other day?"

While Megan placed a reassuring hand on his cheek, Amita chided. "Charlie said you expressed the desire to 'bop him on the nose'. He hardly seemed to take that as a threat. He wants to be supportive, Larry, but he's genuinely conflicted. Do you know how many worst case scenarios he has run on both the mode of transportation and your location for most of the six months you'll be gone? He is worried and afraid of losing you."

Larry nodded. "I do realize how great his concern is. Right now, my venture into space is the last thing we should be thinking about. The danger to Charles is current and serious. Suddenly, Charlie was just gone, taken. That I might never get a chance to…..to see him again…" One hand gestured vaguely in the air as the threesome entered the actual war room.

"Larry, I promise you. We ARE going to get him back." Don had only heard the last couple of sentences, but he could guess what they had been talking about. "You two have something for us?"

David had moved over, taking Amita's computer to help her get it up and running. He smiled at her encouragingly, while Don took care of introducing Larry as 'our contribution to the space effort' and made sure Amita remembered meeting Lt. Walker before. Eppes acquainted the three newly arrived with the information the LAPD gang task force leader had contributed to the investigation.

"We are certain the message is partially in runes, but I feel here," Amita displayed the scanned note on a smaller LCD screen next to the screen showing the images of the identified suspects. Halfway down, she indicated a spot with the pointer on her computer, "it shifts into what I am fairly certain is a pre-Arabic numbering sequence. I sent an IM to a friend of mine who specializes in Germanic language and history to verify that. Let me see if he has gotten back to me."

While she did, Fleinhardt explained. "We believe this is the address for an Internet site, Don."

"Why would they code a web address? Seems they would want us to know that information as soon as possible, if it's where they take credit or explain what they are doing?"

"Perhaps, they wanted to ensure the site was up and running with the least chance of it leading back to them before you were able to view it." Larry speculated.

Walker nodded. "Because if we found the server, it could help us get a geographical fix on where they might be holding Professor Eppes, right?"

Amita glanced up from her off-screen work. "That's what we thought. If they were still launching the website, they would have time to beta it before they went live."

"Wait, are you thinking this might be a live video feed?" Don asked.

"Well, we saw they had a video camera with them in the pictures we got from Professor Tauray." David put in. "At the least, they might post the kidnapping video as a hook. It would prove they are the people who took Charlie, not just someone trying to take credit."

The idea made sense to Colby. "Like Megan said, earlier, it fits the profile for their age group – bragging rights. Right?"

"Let's get our techs up here. They need to be set up, ready to try and back trace once the address is deciphered." Don ordered.

Granger headed out to call the information techs up to the unit.

Walker's cell phone buzzed. He spoke into it briefly. "You have? Where? Okay. Yeah, I know where that is. Have them guard the scene…I think Agent Eppes will want his crime scene techs on it."

He answered the curious looks from everyone.  
"A patrol unit just found the professor's car; it's parked in the lot by the Queen Mary. They are walking the scene, but security says there has been an awful lot of foot traffic. It has been there all day. Seems doubtful any evidence will be found on the grounds. Do you want your people to go to the location?"

Don thought only briefly before he replied. "No, just have the car towed to our garage so FBI techs can go over it with a fine tooth comb."

"Makes sense to me. Long Beach patrol says their tow unit will ensure any evidence on the outside of the car is preserved when they package it. They'll get it here ASAP."

After he finished up his phone call, Gary told Don. "I doubt where they found the car has anything to do with where they took your brother. They more likely took him in the opposite direction."

"Hoping we would waste our time looking in that area, when they really took him back closer to their home turf?"

"That would be my guess. My people have verified the address on the Mueller's home; their phone and her cell phone are the same, as I have on file. I'm going out to use a land line to try and reach her. I'd like to try setting up an interview with both her and Michael, as soon as possible."

Don's phone chirped. "Eppes here - oh, yeah, when was that? Just now. Okay, just continue to watch the house. No, only if he starts to leave again. In that case, tell him I need to see him and I am on my way." He pinched the bridge of his nose after he flipped the phone shut, explaining. "My dad just got home. Look, if you can set up that interview, take Megan with you. David, you and Colby follow up here. Help the professors and our techs any way you can."

Megan protested. "I should come with you, Don. Colby could go with Lt. Walker."

"I appreciate the offer, Megan, but I want you to get a read on Michael, in particular. If he is the computer whiz Gary thinks he is, he may have created the website without knowing what they were going to use it for. Besides, I want to tell my Dad in private. He may need support later, but right now, the first 48 are ticking down. We need to accomplish what we can sooner, not later!" Don looked at Megan and Larry who both look like they wanted to protest. "My decision, guys. Period." He left shaking his head, aggravated.

"He shoulders too much of the responsibility where Charlie is concerned." Larry said, doubtfully.

"Excuse me a moment." Gary followed Don out the door. "Eppes, give me a minute. I'll arrange an escort to clear you a path on the way home."

Glancing at his watch, Don replied. "Thanks, Gary. That would be a big help at this hour. Just tell them to drop off a block or so away."

"No red lights and sirens close to the house. I get that." Gary agreed, readily.

Alan Eppes was in the kitchen, making coffee when Don walked in the front door. Not seeing who had come in, he automatically called out. "Charlie? Is that you?"

Stealing himself to keep the start of this as normal and light as he could, Don swallowed the gorge that rose in his throat. "Sorry, Dad. It's just me."

"Since when is a non-meal related visit from my first born, a visit from 'just' me, Donnie. I am always delighted to see you, especially in one piece. I just got home myself. I'm making coffee. Want some?"

Grimacing while still safely hidden by the swinging door, Don replied. "Actually, a glass of milk would be nice. How was your trip?"

His father soon appeared in the dining room, a glass of milk and a plate of cookies in hand. As he set them on the table, Eppes senior smiled, conspiringly. "I thought we could see if Charlie's quest for a mathematically perfect chocolate chip cookie has produced any decent results!"

"Chuck made these. Think they are safe for human consumption?"

"You know he hates when you call him that. In actual fact, son of mine, your brother has taken over a lot of the kitchen duties, of late. Without any urging from me, I would add."

"He does better when you avoid nagging, you know?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Alan tried to look innocent.

Don shook his head and considered the cookie in his hand. "You can tell this was made by a mathematician. Look at it. Have you ever seen a more geometrically round cookie?" He bit into it. "Whoa! Mrs. Field's and Famous Amos had better look out. Charlie just may have something here. Moist, full of chips – damn, these are actually very good!" Either his stomach was in serious need of food or his brother's cooking skills had improved drastically.

"If you came by looking for your brother, you may have a wait. I don't think he has gotten home from school yet. He may be off doing something with Amita," Alan looked pleased at the thought. He paused and listened. "I don't hear the coffee maker any more. Must be finished; sure you don't want a cup?"

Taking his cell phone off his belt and switching it to vibrate, the FBI agent lay the rest of his cookie down on the table. "Yeah, I am sure. Say, Dad, do you have any Excedrin down here?" He heard Alan fussing in the kitchen. The cabinet near the swinging door in the kitchen where his family had kept medicine best taken with food since his earliest memory was opened. Some things Charlie had obviously felt it wise not to change. This long standing location must be one of them.

Alan came back in with a mug of coffee in one hand, and, the bottle of Excedrin Migraine in the other. Noting the kind of brand name, Don frowned. "Has Charlie been getting his migraines again?"

"He never really stopped having them. Yes, they have grown worse and more frequent, ever since Millie took over as tri-department chair." The expression on his father's face made it plain he neither thought the two facts were coincidence; nor appreciated that the two were associated with Mildred Finch.

"Don't get ticked just because your girlfriend seems to trigger his migraines, Pop. She has certainly increased the pressure on your younger cub, you know?"

"Okay, enough pleasantries; it's time to fess up. Something is bothering you. What is wrong?" Looking his son over carefully, Alan fretted. "You didn't get hurt on that job of yours, again. Did you?"

"Dad - breathe! Good grief, you shift into Jewish mother mode way too fast for a man!" As soon as he had said that, he grimaced at his own idiocy.

_Great, Don…bring up the family heritage just before you lower the boom on him!_

His hand scrubbed the vein between his two eyebrows. Megan had referred to the throbbing vein between his eyes recently. Ever since she did that, he noticed it every time he tensed up.

"Don, out with it. What is wrong?" One and one suddenly added up for his father. "Wait - does this have something to do with your brother?"

"Dad - please, let me say what I have to say all at once, before you ask any questions. Okay?" Don grabbed both of his father's wrists, unconsciously pinning them to the table. His words spilled out of his mouth, rapid fire and unemotional. He sounded like he was talking to Merrick, not their father…and he cringed inside himself at the coldness he perceived, in the sound. "Last night, five guys entered Charlie's office at CalSci. They…they were all wearing World War II era costumes," he stumbled over those words, amending, heavily, "Nazi costumes. They trashed his office, broke things, tore books and threw them on the ground."

Until this point, Don had stared down at Alan's strong hands, but when they both clenched into fists, he glanced up. His heart sank as he saw denial plant itself on the older man's face.

Alan interrupted. "A prank …in very poor taste, no doubt, but, it was Halloween."

"Dad, Charlie was there – in the office. He – he tried to stop them, to fight them off, but they outnumbered him. They overpowered him." Seeing the expected horror emerge didn't make the task easier, so he gentled his tone. "These guys, they took Charlie away, with them. He has been missing almost twenty-four hours, already."

"You're saying that our Charlie has been kidnapped." When he saw the pained acknowledgment on Don's face, his voice dropped to a near whisper. "What do they want? Have they asked for ransom, for money? I have most of my money tied up in this business with Stan, but, I will find a way." At the last sentence, his father's tone grew hard as granite.

Don hated to strip away that hope. "There has been no ransom demand, so far. They left a note, but it was written in some kind of code with the exception of the signature and one word on the front. Amita and Larry are working hard to decipher the message. The gang call themselves the Aryan Purity Movement. Lt. Walker with the LAPD's gang task force brought us a lot of information." He pulled on his father's wrists slightly, until Alan locked eyes with him. His own voice turned to steel. "We are going to find him, Dad. I will get him back, as soon as I can." He looked down as he stated the last. He knew only too well that might be an empty promise, no matter how much he wanted to make it true. That thought distracted him, so that his father's next words took him totally unaware.

"Son, what was the word?"

"Huh?"

"The word on the front of the note, Don – what was it?"

The FBI agent swallowed hard.

_Oh, God. This is just going to make it worse. _

"Krystallnacht – it just said 'Krystallnacht'. The word was misspelled."

It was spoken so quietly, Alan had to lean closer to make it out. He knew he paled as comprehension hit. "That, that isn't until the eleventh. You don't think they mean to hold him another ten days?"

"Dad, I just don't know. I wish that I had more to tell you." Don released his grip and raked a shaking hand over his own hair. "Hell, I wish I had already found him. We didn't even know he was missing until this morning, when Amita alerted us something was wrong."

Stricken with the fear that things were worse, because he hadn't been home, Alan muttered. "If I hadn't been out of town on business, you might have known sooner."

Gesturing impatiently, Don snapped. "No. Don't start with that guilt nonsense. He was supposed to go to that party with Amita last night. He wouldn't have gotten home from that; before you headed to bed, even if you HAD been home, Dad."

When his eldest tried to open the aspirin and growled in frustration over his failure at first attempt, Alan took the bottle out of his hands. At his son's snarl, he remonstrated. "You are not a bear; stop growling!" He easily popped the lid off and shook two tablets into Don's now open palm. Before Don could throw them into his mouth, the father captured his son's wrist, saying firmly. "Eat a couple of cookies first. You can't take full strength medicine like that on an empty stomach." Responding to the anger that flared in his son's expression, he almost begged. "Humor me, Donnie, please."

Exasperated, Don sighed. "Okay, okay. I'm not two years old, you know."

Although they were definitely delicious, the cookies went down like ground glass. His brother made these. He should be here to enjoy the sight of his family testing his latest culinary efforts; not in the hands of people who meant him no good. The situation was, as Professor Fleinhardt might observe, simply untenable, and not conducive to good digestion either.

Once the obligatory cookies were consumed, Don took the tablets with the rest of his milk. "I have to get back to work. Do me a favor. I have an agent on you." Overruling his father's frown, he turned his dad's own words back on him. "Humor me on this. If you want to go any place, have the agent take you."

In response, his father glanced down at his own watch. "Tell you what. Have the agent come keep me company and give us three hours or so." When his son's face grew completely puzzled, Alan said. "Look, Don, your people have to eat some time. I'll throw something together and we will bring it down to the office to feed you all."

Genuinely grateful for the thought, Don knew when to give in. "They would all appreciate some decent food, but don't get too fancy. No one is liable to have much of an appetite until Charlie can join us."

"Now that meal will be a feast, I promise you, but tonight, I'll make something simple, but hearty. It will give me something more than just worry to do with myself."

Don almost smiled. It was a well known fact. When Dad was upset, he cooked or cleaned.

"I know you and your team will do everything you can to bring your brother back to us. Don't think the worry I feel for him, means I am any less concerned for you. I love each of you equally."

When he saw his son's eyes glisten, Alan pulled him into a fierce embrace. "You can not do anything more than the best you can, son. I realize that. My love is not limited by the outcome. Whatever comes, we will get through it, as a family." Alan realized how bad the situation was straining him, when Don leaned into the hug, rather than resisting or pulling away. His arms tightened their hold, as his thoughts became a silent prayer.

_Margaret, please, if you have any pull up there …look after both of our boys. We all need help so badly right now. _

All too quickly, his oldest pulled out of the embrace. Don met his father's eyes with resolve, trying to send as much reassurance as possible. "We will bring him home, Dad. I swear, we will." He took a slow deep breath, grabbed several more cookies and shoved them in his pocket with the hope that showed his confidence in his own words. "Brain food. Everyone knows chocolate is brain food."

With one last nod to his father, Don headed back to the office, struck by the errant thought his younger brother had apparently begun to follow in their father's footsteps, where cooking was concerned. The culinary gene seemed to have bypassed the FBI half of the brothers Eppes, however. He tended to burn toast and live off microwave dinners and take out when he didn't come to the family home for a decent meal.

_Grrrr. I tried updating this earlier and it didn't show up, so one more try. I've been fiddling around trying to get Chapter 10 going, but I was so frustrated over not getting the new improved version of this up it was driving me nuts. Sigh. Some days you are the bug, some days you're the windshield._


	10. Chapter 10: Darkness and Memories

Krystallnacht

Chapter 10: Darkness and Memories

_This is the final revision of Chapter 10. Thank you very much to my wonderful beta. Apologies to the readers for so long passing between updates, revisions, etc. Sometimes real life is just a itch. I hope to have Chapter 11 up soon – beta'd and everything. Hemel Lass_

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Charlie opened his eyes. Yep, it was still totally dark.

_Okay, come on Charles. You know better than that._ He lectured himself in his mind.

_**Darkness** is merely the perceived absence of _light_. Pure or total darkness does not exist, except in the conditions of absolute zero and that is only theory. Some small amount of light is actually present even here, in the form of radiation, because radiation permeates every corner of the universe, although at times (like here and now) that light is undetectable by the human eye. Darkness should really be defined as "lesser amounts of light", rather than "the absence of light. Of course, if you factor in the theories regarding 'dark matter' and 'dark energy', perhaps things are coming around now to where we will have to change that definition. _

_Good debate I can have with Larry when I get home. "Is it time to revise the statement that there is no pure or total darkness?"_

_Lord, I'm going all Fleinhardt here. He would probably say that even dark matter and dark energy are capable of being measured and therefore they are still NOT absolute zero._

_Think I'd better move or I'll be stiff as a board!_

He stood up slowly, one hand on the wall behind him – the aches and pains throughout his body were continuing to escalate from the damp coolness of his confinement. The restraints chafed at his ankles and wrists, a discomfort which seemed to grow exponentially with any movement. He knew that in the absence of sight his other senses would be heightened.

'_Isn't that a wonderful thought' _The voice in his mind sounded sardonic. He didn't like the way it echoed, in his skull. '_Here I am stuck in a black nightmare and my ability to feel this suffering is particularly acute because I can no longer see. Stop it Eppes! You know perfectly well that this is an example of mind over matter. Your heightened perceptions are only perceptions. My hearing and sense of touch have not miraculously been increased. I need to think about something else. As it is a matter of 'mind over matter', if I don't let myself mind, it won't matter!'_

There was no longer any effort on his part to estimate the passage of time. He had briefly experimented with the idea of judging by how much his facial hair had grown, but the truth was his facial hair tended to make a lie of the expression, 'five o'clock' shadow. It was not uncommon for him to have to touch up with an electric razor before formal occasions in the evening. The 'scruffy' look he was sometimes teased about by friends was easy to slip into over the course of an average day. He knew it had been longer than twenty four hours because the facial hair was beyond the bristle stage, and was now soft to touch. Unfortunately, with no way to wash, it was also itchy. He rubbed briefly at his jaw line.

Outside of that tell, trying to divine time seemed equal parts pointless and frustrating, so he had simply chosen to stop. It had been long enough that he was seriously hungry, almost to the point of pain. He had doled out his water conservatively, but the bottle was long empty. In fact, he had not needed to use his 'facilities', for quite some…well, time. He chuckled mirthlessly, aloud. There was that word again – time! It was ubiquitous, even if you could not track it.

The fact that he was dehydrated was something he couldn't change. The stiffness he could work on. He began simple stretching and range of motion exercises, humming aloud as he did. He hesitated briefly, as comprehension dawned. _Good Lord, am I actually humming "Whistle While You Work?" Well, the dwarfs had been miners, so they certainly knew about being in the dark! _He shook his head at the burst of whimsy.

As he performed his 'captivity calisthenics', a memory surfaced from his childhood which made him smile. The fun had been triggered by the fact that Don was studying the gold rush, at the same time Charlie's English class was studying Mark Twain, starting with his famous first work under that pseudonym, "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County".

It had been a rare occasion. Dad had persuaded Mom this was educational enough to let the boys miss a couple of days from school, so the family had attended the Calaveras County Fair and Jumping Frog Jubilee which ran from mid-week through the end of the 3rd weekend in May. With special permission from their teachers on the condition the boys produce either oral or written reports, the family was off together on the grand adventure. Between the activities at Frogtown, the boys had been treated to side trips to the Caverns, the Calaveras Big Trees and Columbia, a State Historic Park in an actual gold mining town.

The journey had involved a lot of riding in the car, as Charlie recalled, but they had all had so much fun – panning for gold, riding a stage coach, touring a working Gold Mine, gaping at the enormous redwoods, attending the Jumping Frog contest (The frog Charlie picked had won, though Don swore his mathematical computations meant the win didn't count.) and loads of fun at the traditional county fair that the long hours in the car had been worth it. Both boys had agreed, however, the tour of the amazing underground Caverns was the most memorable event of all.

The highlight had been when the tour guide had the group gather in one chamber and shut off all the illumination, plunging them into such darkness, that the chamber had been filled with nervous titters and soft murmurs. In the lingering darkness, the tour guide had talked about the dangers of these tours in the days before electric illumination, when visitors had descended using only candles and lamplight, down ropes. The electronic lighting had first been added in 1901. However, the plunge into darkness was a tradition that had never been deviated from, because people were always amazed at how dark it really was.

Warmth flooded Charlie's being as one particularly vivid memory unfolded. While the lights were off, the young boy had held out as long as he could, but eventually, he had reached up to touch Don's hand, fully expecting him to get angry and pull away.

Instead, Don's hand willingly enfolded his own smaller one, as he bent close to whisper. "I'm right here, Buddy."

"I'm not scared."

"I know, Charlie. It's just REALLY dark. Does it feel like we're moving a little?"

"I – I thought that was just me."

The boys had heard the tour guide chuckle. "That's actually a common reaction. Many visitors get the sensation they are moving, or, even falling."

"Is that like spatial disorientation?" Charlie asked as the lights came back on, blinking owlishly.

The tour guide had looked at him, startled. "My goodness, aren't you a bit young to be familiar with that term?"

Don had snorted. "Just don't ask him to spell it. Charlie may be only six, but he is real smart." He had patted his brother's hand before letting go. "You'd be amazed at some of the things he knows."

Another member of the group had challenged, sarcastically. "Oh really, so what IS spatial disorientation, smart boy?"

With a frown, Charles glanced at the tour guide who nodded encouragingly, so he explained. "Spatial disorientation is a condition in which an aircraft pilot's perception of direction does not agree with reality. While it can be brought on by disturbances to or disease within the vestibular system, it is more often a temporary condition resulting from flight into poor weather conditions with low or no visibility – or during nighttime flight. Under these conditions the pilot may be deprived of an external visual horizon, which is critical to maintaining a correct sense of up and down while flying." He hesitated a moment. "We probably felt that sensation of movement just now because in the darkness we had no visual horizon or clues to go by. Is that right?"

"It certainly is! Very good, young man." The tour guide had praised him.

Don had thrown a thunderous look at the man who had dared to challenge his little brother. "I TOLD you he was smart!" He had moved to stand between Charlie and that guy the rest of the tour, ever his protector. Fortunately, Mom had missed the fact Don had also stuck his tongue out at the guy. Dad had seen, but he had been unable to hide the grin that had been his only response. Disrespect to elders wasn't usually tolerated, but there were exceptions to every rule.

Charlie let himself bask in happy memories, as he finished his little exercise routine. Following that, he walked back and forth within the confines of his chains. Once he had done that several times, he centered himself between the two heavier chains that connected to the one between his wrists, and eased back down to the floor.

He had deliberately set this pattern for himself – physical activity followed by mental gymnastics. He would stay as fit as possible and force away unpleasant thoughts; such as, if or when his captors would return and what might happen when they did. He visualized a blackboard and began working on some equations in his head. He allowed himself to get lost in the world of numbers.

The physical discomforts faded away. He no longer felt tired, hungry, or cold. He was comfortable in the presence of his muse. It was frustrating, not being able to write anything down, but he had an excellent memory. He could adapt and he did. There were plenty of interesting concepts he could explore and time… again chuckling inwardly… _time_ was not a factor, for a change.

His life was so full of responsibilities between his consulting work, developing his cognitive emergence theory, teaching, the new commitments added by Doctor Finch, caring for his home, and, now, dating Amita. Okay, dating Amita was a pleasure, not a responsibility, but, it did involve a commitment of time and energy. It was hard to find time to just think. He may as well take advantage of the opportunity life had thrown in his path.

_See, there is a bright side to everything, even here, in the dark._


	11. Chapter 11: A Very Special Phone Call

Krystallnacht

Chapter 11: A Very Important Phone Call

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_Well, here it is. Sorry it took so long, but both my wonderful beta, Alice I and myself had numerous real life issues crop up that made the beta process stretch out a bit longer than either one of us wanted. Here's hoping for better days ahead, for us all. Meanwhile, I hope you have been amused and entertained by my short one offs and longer serial inspired by Valentine's Day. Now, let me finally present to you my beta'd version of chapter 11. In spite of Alice's fantastic assistance, it is entirely possible errors are still within. Should this be true, remember that they are mine and mine alone. Enjoy gentle reader. Happy Valentine's Day! SBM aka Hemel Lass aka Lady Lochinvar_

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Don emerged from the elevator banks on his floor, striding quickly to his desk, hoping to avoid attracting attention before he checked his phone and e-mail for messages. In his peripheral vision, he noticed his return had been seen by his team and Walker, but they seemed willing to give him time to check for messages. That was gratifying because he was on pins and needles that there would be either a blaring e-mail or strident phone call summoning him to Merrick's office for the still apprehensively anticipated fight over him handling the investigation into his brother's kidnapping.

Reaching his desk, he took off his suit coat, checked his e-mail – nothing pressing (as in, from Merrick), but when he checked his phone messages, he had a somewhat unexpected, urgent request to call NSA Assistant Director Robert Tompkins as soon as possible! Was this going to be a turf war? He didn't have the stripes to take on the Assistant Director of the NSA and win, though he didn't think they had a leg to stand on. The National Security Agency was not an investigational agency per se, which the FBI certainly was. As he noted the phone number, he saw Megan come to stand by his desk, waiting patiently.

Megan read the phone number and immediately commented. "Oh, I see you heard from the Assistant Director of NSA directly yourself. He's called me twice, probably since he left that message. That's his personal cell by the way and he wants you to call, and I quote, "As soon as he gets my messages, please!" "

Don frowned. "Wonder how he got word on Charlie's abduction? It hasn't leaked to the press, has it?"

His female counterpart smiled and shook her head. "No, but we are talking about the National Security Agency. They obviously have their sources. I'll let you make that call. Once you do, join us in the war room and we can all bring you up to speed." As Don dialed the number, she added. "How did your father take the news?"

Don's relief was evident as his face relaxed a fraction. "Better than I would have thought possible. I think some of his reaction was due to shock and disbelief. After all, Charlie is supposed to be his 'safe' son, but he was a trooper while I was there. He may have collapsed into tears the moment I left the house, but I don't think so. By the way, he's going to be bringing us all dinner in about three hours or so."

Megan smiled. "Ah, yes. As Larry would say, when Alan is really upset, he either cooks or he cleans! Very vigorously!"

Don shrugged with a slight tug of a grin to one side of his mouth. "That is my Dad, what can I say? As Terry Lake once commented, 'It's better than binge drinking and strip clubs.'"

That drew a chuckle from Meagan as she headed back to the War Room.

Once she left the desk, Don sank into his office chair, waiting for the Washington number to ring through.

"Tompkins." The voice on the other end responded, smoothly.

"Ah, yes, Director Tompkins, this is Special Agent Don Eppes? You left a message for me to call you as soon as possible."

"Agent Eppes, please call me Bob or Robert. Your brother does and I will extend that courtesy to you. Director Tompkins could get a bit cumbersome."

Don relaxed fractionally. Tompkins didn't SOUND adversarial. Still wary, Don replied. "On those grounds, sir, please call me Don."

"Very well, Don. I understand we have a mutually shared concern for the well-being of your brother. Charles is missing, correct?"

"He is, sir, yes. He was taken by force from his University office in the early evening yesterday."

"And you are the agent assigned to the case?"

Deciding nothing was to be gained by faking the facts, Don responded. "I suppose you would have to say, sir, that I assigned myself. I am completely qualified and I WILL fight any effort to assign this to any one else. I'm obviously VERY invested in getting Charlie back safe. That is my number one priority."

"Believe me, Agent Eppes, I have no desire to see this investigation entrusted to any one else. Let me be clear about that from the onset. I am well acquainted with the quality work you and your team perform and I trust you implicitly. If your immediate supervisor has not yet weighed in on the issue and seems to wish to reassign this case, I am completely willing to back you up."

That was unexpected. Don hesitated just an instant, before he replied. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate the support."

"I have complete confidence in your abilities, Don. I trust your desire to help him outweighs the emotional impact this must be having on you. We should be allied in this cause, not in opposition. You have no reason to believe this kidnapping has anything to do with his NSA work or clearance, at this point. Is that a correct assumption?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure the people who have taken him even know he HAS National Security Clearance, sir. I would currently classify this as a hate crime."

"A hate crime?" Tompkins sounded appalled. "Based on what?"

_Well, you don't know everything, do you, director? _Don thought quickly, as he responded aloud. "He was taken by five young men, early twenties age group. They were dressed in Nazi era costumes. They left a note with the single word, _KRYSTALLNACHT, _on the cover. Inside, the note is in code, but it was signed 'For our Fatherland, APM'. I have solid confirmation that stands for the Aryan Purity Movement."

Tompkins sighed. "Damn. I'll be honest, though I am aware your heritage is Jewish, I don't really think of Charlie that way. I hope the way I phrased that, doesn't offend you?"

Don smiled a little. "There is no offense taken, sir. In fact, I would have to say I tend to think of Charlie as being in a class of his own. My brother is rather unique. We are ethnically Jewish, but I don't think of the family Eppes that way first and foremost, myself."

"Obviously, someone thinks of Charles that way."

"Frankly, I'm not sure how he popped up on these creeps radar."

"Do you need assistance with breaking the code? You said the message body was encoded."

"Professors Fleinhardt and Ramajuan work with Charlie often on my cases and they have made a great deal of progress with the encryption. I think we have that covered."

"They do good work. Would you like me to send agents to keep an eye on your father, make sure this group doesn't go after him?"

"I have an agent covering him, thank you. If my supervisor gives me trouble about me handling this investigation, though…"

Bob smoothly cut in. "I will send him a directive requesting and reaffirming your assistance is required and I'll point out this is highest priority as an issue of National Security, Don. I don't think you will have any problems with Walter Merrick. I can guarantee that."

_Thank you, God!_ Don wanted to shout it, but he settled for a more dignified. "That is the biggest concern I have at this point. I haven't actually spoken with AD Merrick so far, so I can't say for certain he would object, but I don't want to risk it. Any assistance you can offer forestalling that would be appreciated."

"You will keep me posted. If you need any resources, manpower, anything at all, let me know at once. I can draw people from Secret Services, Treasury or Homeland Security on top of my own agency, if you need them. I can arrange time on supercomputers with controlled access, if the Professors need it at any point. Satellites, communication sniffers, phone taps, if you need to bypass red tape, don't hesitate to call, at any hour!"

Don actually gulped at the impressive reach that was being dangled before him. "If I become aware of a need that exceeds my grasp, I will run it by you, Robert. Thank you."

"Understand this, Don. Charles is not merely a valued asset to me. I consider him a close and dear friend. I truly want to help in any way I can. Help, not interfere. Is that clear?"

Suddenly gripped by powerful emotions, Don knew that showed in his voice as he replied. "Thank you, Robert. That means more to me than I know how to express."

"It is equally heartfelt. Keep me posted…now get back to it, please."

"Yes, sir. Thank you again." Don cradled his phone thoughtfully. He really had to ask Charlie more about how his NSA connection had evolved (all the kind of stuff that was NOT classified, of course). He was surprised to find himself beginning to like the Assistant Director a bit without ever having met him.

Until now, he had always viewed the NSA assistant director with suspicion and primarily as competition for Charlie's availability, plus he didn't fully trust the more secretive government branches. That may have had a lot to do with being raised by his parents, a rather liberal background to put it mildly. For his peace of mind, the NSA was a bit too dangerous an association for his younger brother. He didn't really think he was in danger of losing that view, but Robert Tompkins seemed to genuinely care for Charlie on a personal level; a fact that could very well prove useful in the near future.

Armed with the promise of just about any resource he could possibly need and the assurance that he was not going to be pulled off the case, Don made his way into the quiet commotion of the war room at full throttle focused and already at work.


	12. Chapter 12: Horrors Ahead

Krystallnacht

Chapter 12: Horrors Ahead

Larry was hunched over Amita's shoulder, both hands on either side of his face and an expression of sheer dismay plainly evident. "Oh, no, no. This is not optimal. This is simply unacceptable."

Don re-entered the War Room just in time to hear that eruption from his brother's long time friend. "What's the problem, Larry?"

"We deciphered the link," Amita hurried to explain. "It is a website, with streaming video. Oh, God…" The images were highly disturbing. A man slumped on his knees on a wooden floor, his wrists encased in manacles, with heavy chains leading up to the paneling behind his head, before another man with his back to the camera. The standing man was continuously striking the victim with the butt of an old-fashioned rifle about the head and shoulders.

"Amita," Larry hastened to assure her. "That can't be Charles. Even on his knees, he's almost as tall as Charlie is standing on his feet…"

Don frowned at the remark, as he quickly crossed the room and rounded the table the two were working at.

Larry Fleinhardt could hardly infer that his younger brother was short. He wasn't of towering stature himself. Okay…even thinking that was inane at a time like this. He studied the grainy visuals on the computer.

"Fleinhardt is right, Amita. This guy is too emaciated to be Charlie – my brother's only been gone just over 24 hours. I'd say this guy has been seriously food deprived way longer." His eyes widened at the damage that was being inflicted on the hapless recipient of the abuse. "This looks like the end of the story…not the beginning. What does it say at the top of this web page?"

Amita gulped, reluctant to put the answer into words.

Larry saw her discomfort and intervened. "So die all the Juden scum who lord it over decent Aryans in commerce, education and banking. They will die in front of their friends for sullying our cities and towns with the accursed presence. Purify yourselves, before it is too late. The Aryan Purity Movement"

"Okay. " David let out a breath, he didn't even realize he had been holding. The professors and Don were currently unaware he had put what those three were watching, up on the large plasma screen on the wall. "In other words, the typical racsist bilge this kind of group generally would be expected to spew forth…"

The words were scrolling on the screen. New words were appearing. "This man will be returned to his family tomorrow. No word on what condition he will be in." The video insert where the video had been showing faded to black, as the last words -- all in caps came up. "Check back tomorrow for video of the capture of our latest guest. His education and training will commence soon! Heil the greatest leader this world has ever known, de Fuhrer!"

Don fought to keep down the bile that rose in the back of his throat, as Amita suddenly leapt to her feet and sprinted out of the room in the general direction of the ladies' bathroom. Charlie's big brother watched her departure silently. He could hear Megan…as if from very far away,

"I'll check on her." She, left the war room, fast in Amita's wake.

Unable to resist the gentle tug at his elbow, Don allowed Larry to gently encourage him to sit down in the the seat the female professor had just left unoccupied. He just stared at the computer screen, thankful Charlie had evidently not made his initial appearance on the website, but wondering what state he would be in, when the live display of his torment began to air. It was not a pleasant image that scrolled forward in his mind's eye. He wasn't aware he spoke aloud as he whispered. "Hang on Charlie…we're looking for you. Just hang on…."

_For those who have expressed their ire and dismay over the long time between postings of this story, please be aware – I suffer from multiple auto-immune diseases and all of them have been in a state of FLARE since last November….in the past 5 weeks I have been to the Emergency Room over 6 times…plus had several tests that I reacted to with severe anaphlyaxsis (that is an extremely life threatening allergic reation for those not well informed medically). So I have literally come very close to dying a number of times in just these past few weeks._

_Additionally, my 2__nd__ oldest brother teaches on the campus at Virginia Tech and one of my grandnieces goes to school and lives in one of the dorms there. Dean was part of the rapid response team (he is a US Marshall) dealing with trying to track the shooter down and rescue students and faculty. Lisa is okay, but two of her friends in her dorm are among the dead._

_I know all three people (shooter, victim and duct taped woman) in the Johnson space center shooting incident…and the pilot we lost today from the Blue Angels was also a personal friend and I know his family. These are difficult and trying days for myself and my family. I now have full connectivity and even though I am about to leave for the ER AGAIN (something I really did NOT want to have to do) – I can work on my stories while I am in the waiting room at the hospital and while I am being treated…so I am gradually catching up. A little patience and understanding from my readers? Would be greatly appreciated. Sincerely, Sylvia Mohr Bartlett aka Hemel Lassie aka Lady Lochinvar _


	13. Chapter 13

Krystallnacht: Chapter 13 – Doc In A Box

Charlie woke up…he was cold and stiff and sick. Great. He was actually sick. He was coughing and shivering and dehydrated. What had woken him up was actually the rattling of his chains, from the shivering. He was slumped almost to the floor over on his side. How long had he been this way? It was probably just a cold, but with a real fever and dehydration and the awful racking cough, it might even be pneumonia. When had this happened? How long had he been out? He was doing pretty good, he thought. Keeping a positive thought, spinning philosophy…following his muse. Uh, oh… he felt around.

Sure enough…he had forgotten to keep hydrating…he was holding a half empty bottle of water…and part of a sandwich. Damn it…Charlie the freaking genius had gone so far into his numbers, he neglected keeping up with his physical needs. Under these conditions, unless his keeper who seemed to sneak in and leave him silent offerings of fresh water , Ensure, granola bars and a clean bucket to piss and poop what little he did in to, always when he was asleep.

Charlie shuddered, real fear, near panic setting in. He had never seen his needs supplied to. From everything he could tell he was in a subterranean box of some kind. It might have been an old military installation on a defunct base or an experimental lab. What if this wasn't just sick? What if it was all part of why he was here? Was this a sick psychological experiment? How long would it take a genius - completely isolated, with no human interaction...kept alive under near starvation conditions in a cold, dark, damp place - essentially a big sensory deprivation chamber? How long would it take him to either completely break down physically and mentally...or just go mad from lack of human contact? The Nazis had tried it on Jewish genius children and even some older well educated Jews who refused to work as slaves in rocket experiments or the concentration camps. Intellectuals the level of an Einstein had been lost to such mind games. Was that what this was? Some sick Neo-Nazi group of young punks trying to repeat those experiments and Charles Edward Eppes had been a perfect freaking candidate. The uniforms. Oh, god... Charlie nearly sobbed out loud, but he held himself back. This might be delirium, not reality. Maybe it was kids who had kidnapped him for a terrorist cell - skinhead losers actually working for Osama or similar...

Oh, that was going to help. If he really was being softened, this wasn't a bunch of Neo-Nazi mouth offs from say Glendora or the outskirts of Pasadena or San Dimas or Laverne just beyond high school and trying to enlist younger kids. These were skinhead type gang kids hired by a terrorist cell to soften him up for interrogation for his NSA knowledge or other use. He could not let that happen. He threw the food and water away so he would not be tempted to eat or drink anymore. Whoever was the one who was keeping him fed and monitorred...he didn't think he was very high up in the gang. He was pretty sure the beaters were going to be next stage of his softening before real Jihadists came in. If this illness could be allowed to be missed by some young JD left to mind him for say seven days while he got weak enough before the physical torture began, Charlie might be able to capitlize on this illnesss. He knew how fast he could let a cold turn into death. He had nearly done it accidently in the weeks after Mom died...in the garage. He was far enough along the road now...if he just didn't allow himself to eat or drink any more...

Charlie knew what he had to do...he had to let himself shut down physically. He quietly bid farewell to his father, his brother...Amita...Larry...all hope of survival. He had to find some kind of pleasant memory to let himself drift off into...so he could die before the real experts ever showed up.

Charlie Eppes...Doc in A Box...had to let himself die. It was the only way he could be sure he did not give up secured information or be forced into doing something he would not do...allow his genius to be subverted into something against his country and the world.

Doc in a box...there...that was the memory. He began to fold into a real memory...a pleasant one though very fuzzy now...of a nice, drunken time with him and Donnie. Really the only such memory he had of him and Don as adults before Mom died. It would be a pleasant way to let go because he really had almost died from pneumonia before he or Don realized he was ill.

Hell, this was ironically appropriate because he realized he really might be in a 60's style home made bomb shelter along the lines of the Brandon Frasier movie A BLAST FROM THE PAST him and Donnie liked to giggle through to this day. It had been the only pirated DVD Charlie had ever bought, but now he had the full professional legal version.

Don had dragged him to the movie at the theaters when it first came out. He swore if Larry were a little older or had been at Cal Sci when Charlie was a kid instead of meeting him out at Princeton and Larry Fleinhardt defected from Princeton back to Cal Sci when Charlie came here. Larry and Alan would have gotten together and really built and lived in a bomb shelter like the one Christopher Walken's character had constructed in the movie.

That was how long Larry and Charlie had been a constant. They met at Princeton, but Larry had in fact gotten one of his doctorates as a pretty much Charlie-age genius at Cal Sci early days before Charlie was known to be a prodigy..or had he even been born, Don speculated.

Larry Fleinhardt was a slightly older version of Charlie, some what closer in age to Alan than Charlie.

Huh. Don had sworn that Charlie had to see this movie.

He had blown into town on Wednesday evening because he had promised his Mom and Dad he would drive them to Long Beach and picked them up on Sunday, because the couple was going on an anniversary cruise with two of their oldest friends. Charlie had always suspected it had been Mom and Alan's request he essentially babysit Charlie, though ostensibly he was there to drive Mom and Dad to and from the cruise. It was seeing the movie with friends on Wednesday before he flew in that had triggered the whole weekend…Charlie thought that was true. It had been beers all night Thursday after seeing the movie twice in a row.

By Friday they were alternating beers and meals between seeing the movie again and again back to back. In spite of his fever, Charlie had a sudden glimmer of memory. Did he really recall or was he delirious. Had FBI brother Donnie actually gotten him to smoke some grass as well as the beers on Friday afternoon and evening?

By Saturday they had switched to high octane totally innocent fruit drinks like Mai Tais, Daiquiris and Margaritas…all high fruit sugar and high alcohol drinks. Seems his older brother wanted to see Charlie really drunk and high. Only he got that way too. And he, Don, the older brother kept insisting that if Larry and Alan had met first. Instead of the connecting point between the two families being Charlie going to Princeton at thirteen where Fleinhardt was already a famous physics professor/cosmologist professor with a strong background in the maths.

After all, Larry was a child prodigy in southern California. He was a slightly closer to Alan's age…more like he might have been Don's older brother or a teenage neighbor to young Don before Charlie was even born. Had that happened…the young impressionable child genius growing into an older version of Charlie say next door to their house. The combination of a young Larry with Alan's hippy peacenik, love bead stage would have meant that Larry would have convinced Alan the architectural design, engineering pragmatist to build and actual bomb shelter somewhere in Pasadena. After all, the years they had moved into the Craftsman, their first home bought with enough money…they had lived in rentals before buying the Craftsman.

Don had insisted maybe Larry would have been their next door neighbor. Hell, maybe even the genius version of Charlie would have been an older neighbor and friend to young Don before Charlie even was born.

Alan could have been convinced by this young neighbor genius kid to join him and his Aunt and build an even larger version of the bomb shelter from that movie would have been built under the backyard of the Craftsman and the next door neighbor's house. They, Larry Fleinhardt, his Aunt, somehow old Mrs. Sullivan who lived next door had bought the house from Larry's Aunt, in this grand retelling.

Don and Charlie would actually have been born and grown up living under ground since the Cuban Missile Crisis…just like the movie Brandon. Only the two boys would have been home schooled by Mom, Larry and Alan. In this drunk conjured retelling of the movie, Don had indulged in spinning all the way from Thursday into Saturday night, as they went to the movie theater over and over again to watch the movie this fantasy had grown until two grown men had wandered around the back yard of their house and the neighbor's house at about midnight under a full moon looking for the entrance to the bomb shelter.

If Alan had known young Larry, Don had postulated again and again, might not he and Larry's family as neighbors have built a real bomb shelter like the one in the movie only large enough for two families?

In Don's version, which in their drunken, altered states, both men had actually become convinced might be true, Don would have perhaps been born above ground, but in this wildly spun drunken fantasy-delusion. Don swore him and Charlie would have been TWO real life Brandon Frasier's growing up living underground in a bomb shelter, completely cut off from the world.

It would have been him and the young just showing up to be brilliant Charlie real well home schooled who came up to meet and marry two 'nice girls, not from the valley…or Reseda, but Pasadena girls maybe' after they found out they had been living underground thinking the Nuclear Armageddon had happened.

Charlie, being Charlie, had done the math and pointed out that Don would have been very young when they went down and Charlie would have been born and completely educated underground in the bomb shelter.

In his spin of the tale, he thoughtfully provided that Larry was living with his Aunt and she had two daughters the ages of Charlie and Don. Mom and Dad had managed to provide a girl old enough for Larry to marry. Therefore…they didn't come up until the full 25 years was over, but they all were married to pure girls. Charlie had never seen the sky before they emerged.

Somewhere in the drunken haze of Saturday when they had finally just sat around the yard making barbeque, eating and drinking and essentially completely becoming delusional. Well, heck Don started Charlie on hard liquor drinks that didn't taste like liquor or make you sick. Daiquiris, Mai Tais, Strawberry Maragaritas…Tequila Sunrises.

Oh, yeah. It was well into the cooking barbeque and eating and drinking fruit drinks in theme with the mother from the movies liking them that Don had produced a Bar Tenders guide and made every high fruit sugar and high octane drink under the sun. Eventually Charlie thought he recalled a full moon, the two full grown, but very drunk and very silly brothers had decided that there really was a huge bomb shelter under the Craftsman.

The neighbor, Mrs. Sullivan's house and yard and the koi pond, Charlie vaguely remembered getting a shovel to dig around some of the edges and rocks of the outside of the ornamental koi pond, which they both became convinced was a key element in the processing of the airponics and other ways of growing food and the air exchanger to keep fresh oxygen and process sewage from the underground house complex and the air conditioning system that also kept all the meat frozen until it had all been consumed which was when they had to re-emerge because the Eppes were all big meat eaters.

If Alan had met Larry, back around the time of the Cuban missile crisis, with Larry's knowledge of the full realities of the nuclear threat combined with Alan and his gee-whiz mathematical engineering and architectural knowledge and urban planning background had Larry and Alan met somehow during those times, Don had convinced Charlie somewhere there really was a bomb shelter under the yards and houses…

Much to old Mrs. Sullivan's angry yelling out the window who was in her back yard. The two mean were actually looking for the access point to an elaborate bomb shelter both Charlie and Don had become convinced was really there.

It was the first time Don had ever really seen an adult Charlie stay drunk that long. Heck, Charlie was pretty sure it was the first time he even stayed that drunk that long.

Charlie remember it was mostly beers until after the last movie Saturday when they wound up at some crazy Hawaiian place that served all these fruity drink concoctions that did not taste of the hard liquor or the number proof on the labels they were consuming. Than the Barbeque and the midnight moon search for the bomb shelter had happened.

Charlie felt in the dark along his hip. Yup. Fever or not, dehydrated or not…this was not just a delirous imagining. It was real, because there were the scars of the bite on his behind when their other neighbor had responded to Mrs. Sullivan's call by bringing his trained guard dog into the back yard of Mrs. Sullivan. Don and Charlie had given up digging around the outside of the koi pond and were starting to dig in her yard. She thought it was some young teens from the blocks around the house doing it.

Beiderman had released a trained dog and only Don's FBI expertise had gotten the bitten Charlie safely away from the jaws of the dog and back into the Craftsman before the Pasadena police had arrived.

Don had managed to get Charlie bedded down with something on his bleeding rump before he went to the door, acting very professional, though clearly drunk and insisted he was sure two teenagers had run through their yard after getting away from the dog.

The police trusted him when he flashed his badge. By the time he came back to see how bad the bite really was, Charlie was throwing up, burning up and really sick. Don had sobered up immediately, wondering how many of the genius's brain cells he had already fried with all the alcohol consumption he had urged on his younger brother. He had been as sober as a judge when he convinced the family doctor to come over and tend to Charlie at the house on Sunday morning.

Charlie had been pretty sick. The doctor had cleaned and debrided and stitched his rear end bite wound. Because he insisted the family knew the dog and it had had it's rabies shots, Charlie had not had to face rabies vaccinations. Doctor Kellerman had given him an IV to rehydrate the miserable young man which also had antibiotics in it because he knew how much Charlie hated hospitals. Essentially that house call had been the equivalent of four or five hours in the ER. Charlie actually had bronchitis that almost was pneumonia. The two men had been so drunk neither of them realized how sick Charlie was until the dog bite had scared Don sober.

When Dad and Mom got home, Charlie was feverish, sick and his rump had been a little infected, Don provided a cover story that made it look like he and Charlie had gone hiking, a friends dog bit Charlie when he fell on him, but he wasn't rabid or even mean, Mom, he just got made when Charlie stumbled on the trail. Don admitted he shouldn't have let Charlie talk him into trying the trail head along the the San Gabriel's above Glendora.

Mom and Dad, so don't freak. Charlie was just sick. Yes, Don was hung over, but Charlie had never even got drunk. He just had a couple of beers all weekend. They had only gone hiking Sunday morning, but Charlie got sick on the trail and that was when the dog somehow bit him.

4Don was a very talented liar from his near JD days in high school, long before he ever thought of being in the FBI.

Charlie was sick. Charlie had what he thought was only a bad cold the Wednesday Don had first seen the movie. He had flown in try and make the kid have some fun while Dad and Mom went on a cruise from Thursday morning until Sunday afternoon with Stanley and his lady friend.

That was really why Don had originally intended to fly in on Thursday. He had seen the movie with friends from the Bureau and realized he had never seen Charlie drink hard liquor and decided to see how the kid acted if he gradually shifted him from the beer he did drink to the fruity concoction favored by Walken's wife in the movie.

Wow. That was part of why he had remembered all this now. Here in the dark, as he had contemplated how spatial geometry and a kind of improvised echo locution, Charlie had been trying to conjure up a mental image of his location of captivity. Somewhere before the fever had really set in, he had become convinced it was roughly an oddly shaped box. It really might just be an old Nuclear Bomb Shelter in one of the yards close to his own home in Pasadena.

In spite of feeling really ill, Charlie started giggling…he must be a little delirious or was he becoming just hysterical? He found himself muttering aloud, knowing he must sound crazy…

"**Doc in a box…doc in a box.**"

Charlie sunk into a nightmare world where he slowly became convinced he was within two or three of block of his Craftsman in Pasadena, underground in a back yard bomb shelter.

His earlier memory of a trip into the mountains, maybe up to Glendora or even as high as Mount Baldy or San Bernardino before he wound up in this non-descript prison of cell he had always been sure was underground, slipped away. He became convinced he was within two blocks of home in a box like home made bomb shelter from the nuclear fear days. Professor Eppes knew he had lost the bubble. He was either really ill or going mental…

Still his head bobbed up and down as he kept muttering aloud. "**Doc in the Box…Doc in the Box…Doc in the Box…**"

Until the muttering ceased and Charlie slipped into the silence he was sure would be either his physical death or permanent insanity. As the last syllables uttered aloud came through cracked and bleeding lips, all was silent.


End file.
